


A Second Chance

by ashes_of_roses (KendraLuehr)



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris, Pushing Daisies
Genre: (seriously she will die), AU, Abigail Hobbs Lives, Abigail Lives, Alternate Universe, Boat Sex, Clothed Sex, Crossgen, F/M, Hannibal AU, May/December Relationship, Naked Female Clothed Male, Older Man/Younger Woman, Pushing Daisies AU, age gap, character death (but then not character death), kissing through plastic wrap, lovers who can't touch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-12
Updated: 2017-01-29
Packaged: 2018-06-01 22:30:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 29,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6539053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KendraLuehr/pseuds/ashes_of_roses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abigail Hobbs died in her father's kitchen. Unable to stand the guilt, Will uses his gift of reanimation to bring her back. But will his gift of life enchant her, or lead Abigail on a path that neither anticipated? Hannibal/Pushing Daisies AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Minor Hiccup

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly, I've been sitting on this idea for months now (thanks to Tumblr user lilypottering), and I figured it wouldn't be worth it since the show's over and fanfiction seems to be on the decline. But the idea just kept badgering me and _badgering me,_ and then one night, I ended up writing an entire chapter, and here we are! Namely because I just could _not_ believe that nobody had ever written a _Pushing Daisies_ AU bringing Abigail back to life.
> 
> In this particular story, the circumstances are entirely different, and much closer to book canon. I figured it would help take out some of the show complications of the Will/Abigail dynamic, because in the book, they were on friendly terms. I admittedly _did_ throw a wrench in that in this chapter, but hey, what's a story without a little bit of dissent? ;) That basically means that Abigail did _not_ help her father, and that Will is only guilty of shooting Hobbs (so no paternal empathy). So far, not much has been revealed about Will's gift, other than the basics of how it works. More on that will come in later chapters.
> 
> Anyway, I really love the idea of bringing Abigail back (even though I chose Apéritif instead of Mizumono, because again, less complications). Regardless, I hope you enjoy! And hopefully I can get more written soon, though significant interest naturally helps that along. :)

**Image credit (my art):** http://musicboxmemories.tumblr.com/post/143120832863/hannibalpushing-daisies-au-abigail-hobbs-died

* * *

 

"How many?"

"Will, you can't go in there – we're monitoring the activity from around front, and he's got his daughter in a headlock."

Slowly lowering his weapon, Will brought his walkie talkie to his lips and said, "There's an entrance out here, Jack – I'm going to take it."

"Will, you _can't._ You're risking everyone involved!"

Dropping his communication device, Will crept through the back door as Jack Crawford continued negotiating out front. As he slunk through the halls, he could hear the older man's deep, commanding voice through the megaphone. Hobbs was distracted – he was _surrounded._ There was no way he would be able to run.

From this vantage point, Will could hear the sound of soft sobbing. With one arm around her waist and the other holding a knife to her throat, Hobbs continued to face the front door while his daughter struggled vainly. Will was approaching to their left, able to see their shifting profiles as Hobbs continued to shout out negations. Jack was trying to solve this without any violence, but it clearly wasn't working.

Abigail's eyes slid toward Will then, wide and blue and all encompassing. He'd never seen such pure terror before. Will was just a damn freak wrangled into the FBI by _force,_ not someone who actually had the _stomach_ for this sort of thing. Admittedly, he had a sound mind and a good head for problem-solving, and yet everything suddenly seemed to be tangling up in his thoughts. Unfortunately, Hobbs chose that moment to look toward him.

Panicked, Will raised his weapon and shouted, "Garrett Jacob Hobbs, this is the FBI! Lower your weapon – we've got you surrounded!"

Naturally, Hobbs did _not_ lower his weapon, and instead turned it on the very girl Will was trying to protect. As Hobbs hacked away at Abigail's windpipe, Will managed to empty two chambers – one bullet went into Hobbs' shoulder, and the other into his side. He collapsed and Abigail went sprawling across the floor.

Wheezing, the girl feebly reached for her neck just as Will dropped down to her side, his hands applying pressure to the gushing wound. In her eyes, he could see his own panicked reflection gazing back at him, trembling and flustered just as she weakly pointed over his shoulder. It was too late.

Hobbs grabbed Will and wrenched him away from Abigail, leaving her unprotected as the two began grappling on the floor. As Hobbs struck him across the jaw, Will could hear the girl gasping – _struggling_ _for breath_ – alongside them.

Will reached for his weapon, but the _pop pop pop_ of gunfire froze him up on the spot, stunned as Hobbs collapsed on top of him. Overhead, Jack stood in the doorway with Zeller at his side.

"Christ, Will, I told you not to come in here!" Jack seethed. Attention diverting toward Abigail, he quickly pocketed his gun and rushed to the fallen girl. But as he slipped his hands over her slashed throat, he discovered that she was unresponsive. "Goddammit..."

"What?" Will asked, fearful as Zeller helped him out from underneath Hobbs. "She can't be-"

"Dead? 'fraid so, Graham. We lost the whole lot of 'em today."

"But it doesn't have to be-"

" _No,"_ Jack cut in, pointing a finger. "You're not wasting your gift on this girl. The last time you went over 60 seconds, you killed off a very prominent member of society. Besides…" He looked down at Abigail regretfully. "This poor girl's death isn't a mystery. We _know_ how she got to be in this predicament."

Will tensed his fists, swallowing sharply. "Should we call it in?"

"There's an ambulance out front," Zeller said.

Nodding, Jack added, "I'll just alert them that instead, we're going to need a coroner."

Will felt sick. When he'd volunteered to be on the field that day, this was _not_ the type of experience he had envisioned. Heroics and accolades, perhaps, but instead, he'd gotten this girl – this young, vibrant girl – _killed._

"Pull yourself together," Jack told him, "and then report to the car. You're going to have to give a detailed account of what happened here."

Pale and practically unseeing, Will nodded. He needed to speak with Beverly Katz… _She_ would know what to do.

* * *

"Why her? Why this girl?"

"I dunno, I just-"

"Look, Will, I know you feel guilty, but bringing someone who's _supposed_ to be dead back to life just to make yourself feel better is _not_ the answer."

Will watched Beverly with injured, shadowed eyes, his hands flexing as she hovered over the clothing from the De Salmo case. With her forceps in hand, she began inspecting the garments for stray fibers.

"I'll admit it sounds a bit _unorthodox,_ but-"

"What would you do with her, Will? You don't even know this girl, for one, and two, there _will_ be a demand for the body. Her death has been recorded, and her mother will wish to bury her."

"Which is where you come in," Will said. "If you could just draw up an order to get the body in our custody, we could create some fake documentation saying she was cremated."

"That's a federal offense _and_ immoral."

"And what we're doing isn't? I'm pretty sure it's unethical to break into tombs to solve cold cases."

"That is _completely_ different."

"Is it?" Sighing, Will moved in closer. "I just want to help this girl, Beverly…to give her the chance at life she never had growing up. Is that really so horrible?"

"Well-"

"She never went to prom, or got to have any real friends, or even truly _live_ because of fear. I want to give her back what was stolen from her."

Twisting her mouth, Beverly set down her forceps with a sigh. "Fine," she agreed, "but _just_ this once. I swear to God, Graham, if this turns into a regular occurrence with you…"

"It won't," Will quickly assured her. "Just…one more thing."

"What?"

"I'm going to need your fiancé to sew her up and give her a blood transfusion."

"Are you _kidding_ me? Charlie has _no_ idea about any of this!"

Will winced, nodding. "I know, but…are _you_ capable of doing these things on your own?"

"I am. It's not a medically advanced procedure, and I can falsify some of Charlie's documents to get the blood." Her eyes narrowed. "You owe me _big_ time for this. You know that, right?"

"No argument there," Will agreed. "A steak dinner, maybe?"

"More like ten, but it's a start." Taking off her gloves with a _snap,_ Beverly said, "Meet me down in the morgue in about ten hours. It'll take at _least_ that long to get all this documentation and supplies together."

"Deal. Oh, and Beverly?"

"Yeah?"

"You're the best."

With a grin, she gave him a cheeky, "I know," before heading for the exit.

* * *

Will was nervous. In most cases of reanimation, he was relatively subdued. After a negative existence of having this gift of returning life to the dead, it was very difficult to be fazed. But now, as he regarded Abigail Hobbs' pale, unmoving body, he found himself wondering just how she would respond to this second chance. It wasn't that he feared she would disapprove – no, how could she? – he simply just didn't know _how_ to care for another person other than himself. All his life, he had been alone. The uniqueness of his gift had led Will to a life of intentional solitude. But as he gazed down at this girl, he _knew_ he wanted to give all of that up, if only to see the light return to her eyes – a light that may have otherwise never even existed.

"Well?" Beverly asked. "Are you going to get to it, or what?"

"Oh, uh…yes. Sorry." Releasing an even breath, Will hovered his hand over Abigail with a moment of uncertainty. A touch to her face seemed far too intimate, a tap to the shoulder too cold and informal, so by instinct, he reached for her freshly stitched throat… The one part of her he had failed to save.

With his fingers gliding over the uneven mark, Will jerked back as Abigail took in a large, startled breath.

"Wh-what?" she choked, looking in between both Will and Beverly with large, panicked eyes. Her voice was hoarse from both misuse and her injury. "Where am I?"

"A morgue in the Quantico branch of the FBI," Beverly informed her. "You and your father were in an accident of sorts."

Shakily, Abigail attempted to sit up, but when she realized she was only wearing a white sheet, she flushed and clutched at the thin material. "What are you saying? What's going on? _Why_ am I naked in a morgue?"

"W-well, uh…" Will cleared his throat, keeping his distance in case she decided to lash out. "You kind of just…"

"You died," Beverly cut in. "But it's okay, 'cause Special Agent Will Graham brought you back, and as soon as we get you some clothes, you can move on, start over, and live a real life."

"But my mom…?"

"She can't know you're alive," Will said. "I know it's hard, but you're not allowed to contact anyone from your past. As far as they're concerned, you're gone."

Abigail blinked, far too overwhelmed to properly process everything. "But…where will I go?"

"I thought maybe you could stay with me," Will offered. "I know we've only just met, but I know how to keep you safe."

Abigail swallowed. "You killed my dad."

"What? No, I-"

"You _shot_ him."

"I incapacitated him, yes, but he was ultimately slain by another agent. Abigail, please try and understand… I'm just trying to help," Will said. "I _want_ to help you."

"I don't _want_ your help," she seethed. "You assumed I wanted to be brought back, but I _don't_. I have nothing…" Looking to Beverly, she pleaded, "Get me some clothes and take me to my mom."

"Look, kid-"

" _Please."_

Torn, Beverly glanced at Will before turning to make her leave. He didn't bother to stop her. Perhaps while she was gone, he could talk some sense into Abigail. When they were alone, Will grimly began to pace.

"Will you help me down?"

He abruptly stopped his nervous movements, sparing Abigail a startled glance. "I can't…"

"Pushy _and_ rude? Wow, just my luck," Abigail muttered. Holding tightly to her sheet, she grumbled a terse, "Fine, I'll do it myself," before sliding off the metal table.

Will winced. "No, no, it's not that I don't _want_ to, I literally _can't."_

"Why not?"

"I can't touch you, or else…" He gestured uncomfortably between them. "…or else you'll die a second time, and never be able to come back."

Abigail's mouth pursed. "And does that apply to everyone and myself, or just you and me?"

"Just us."

"Hmm. Doesn't sound like this'll be much of a problem then."

Will moved to respond, but Beverly chose that moment to burst through the double doors.

"Good going, Graham!" she hissed. "You know that little caveat of yours?"

Anxiously, his eyes flickered toward Abigail.

"Yeah. The girl's _mom_ was here to give us a statement, and now she's dead!"

"W-what?" Staggering a moment, Abigail turned her fearful eyes to Will. "What's she talking about? _What_ caveat?"

Will swallowed. "W-well, um…any time I bring someone back, someone else has to die – a life for a life."

"And you chose my _mom?"_

"No, no, it's a random selec-"

"You son of a _bitch!"_ Charging him, Abigail immediately found herself apprehended by Beverly, a scream catching in her throat as she clawed at the air. "How could you do this to me? Now I really _do_ have nothing!"

"I-I didn't mean…"

"C'mon, Abigail," Beverly cajoled. "I can take you back to my apartment for a while, okay? It'll give us some time to figure things out. In the meantime, here's some clothes, as promised." With a gentle nudge, she urged, "Go out to the bathrooms and I'll meet up with you when you're finished. Just give me a couple minutes, okay?"

After Abigail left the room, Will immediately moved to speak on his behalf, but Beverly held up a hand. "No," she told him, "I'm not letting her go with you. She just lost her parents, and in essence, _herself_ in one day, so I really don't think it's wise to leave you two alone. At least not yet."

"You're probably right," Will agreed. "I just thought-"

"No, you _didn't_ think, and that's the problem. Charlie's out of town all week, so I can keep her 'til then – or hopefully, 'til she cools off and can accept the idea of staying with you."

"Thanks, Beverly."

She nodded. "In the meantime, you should probably work out how you're going to tell Jack. He's already suspicious thanks to Mrs. Hobbs."

Will exhaled. "Right. Um…same time tomorrow?"

She huffed, but nodded as she headed off for the bathrooms. So far, this was _not_ how Will had envisioned his day going.


	2. Regrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Normally, zero response means zero interest in my continuing a story, but I'm just so taken by the idea of Abigail being brought back that I HAVE to try. I don't typically have the time anymore, unfortunately, but I'm going to try for as long as I'm able!

"Perhaps you should sit down."

Will shook his head, continuing to pace. "You were appointed to help me, Doctor, but I don't intend to stay for long."

"I am afraid I cannot clear you in good conscience. Not unless, of course, you speak and give me reason to do so."

Will released a breath before turning back around. "Very well," he agreed, "but there's very little to say."

"Your tremendous agitation suggests otherwise," Hannibal argued. "You have just endured a very traumatic experience, Will. It is not uncommon to be feeling trapped or helpless."

Will snorted. Dr. Lecter didn't know the half of it.

"Does what I say amuse you?"

"Hardly. I was caught in the crosshairs of a massacre, and unable to do anything about it. And now, I…" He paused, realizing that he'd nearly mentioned his plight with Abigail. He didn't know how to earn her forgiveness, and something told him that his tragic lack of social skills weren't doing him any favors.

"Now you what?" Hannibal prodded.

"I feel…responsible. Even though I wasn't the one to ultimately kill Hobbs or his daughter, I still had a hand in it."

"And how did that make you feel?"

Will huffed, scornful of the clichéd question. "Terrible, naturally," he muttered. "I think anyone in my position would feel guilty."

"Not everyone."

"With all due respect, I'm not here to be existential. The fact remains that I _do_ feel guilty, and no amount of shoulder pats or 'ya done goods' are going to change that. I orphaned a girl yesterday."

"Orphaned?" Hannibal canted his head, now steadily returning his patient's gaze. "The report says Abigail Hobbs is deceased as well."

"I mean…well yes, she is," Will backpedaled, "but I still caused her family to die."

"Mrs. Hobbs' death was a completely separate affair."

"A coronary that I most likely caused," Will disagreed. "She couldn't handle the stress, apparently."

"Apparently," Hannibal assented, "though that is still not your fault. To assume otherwise is unhealthy and irrational."

"Well that's what you're here for, right?" Will grudgingly asked. "To make sure I'm not 'irrational'?"

"Please do not misunderstand my intentions."

"What I understand is that this is a mandatory purging of feelings I need to withstand in order to keep my job. And begging your pardon, but I don't intend to purge beyond the shallowest requirement. Aside from guilt brought on by the event, I feel fine."

"Do you?"

Will's eyes narrowed. "Yes, I do."

"Very well." Filling out his signature and additional notes, Hannibal finally handed the paperwork to Will and said, "If you do not feel confident in my care, I shall not waste any more of your time."

Will glanced down at the signed documents a moment, clearly skeptical.

"It is not a trick," Hannibal assured him. "If Jack asks, I will inform him that you have a clean bill of health."

Will's lips rolled inward. "I…thank you."

"But of course. Please do not make me regret this decision."

Still feeling oddly leery of the situation, Will took the paperwork before heading for the door.

* * *

 

"And just how long did you think you could hide this from us?"

"I didn't intend…th-that is to say…"

"You could've killed me!" Zeller snapped. "That whole 'close proximity' bullshit covered all of us yesterday, you realize!"

Will's stance tightened. "Yes, I am aware."

"And yet you still risked everything for a girl you've never met?"

"She was deserving of this second chance."

Jack held up a hand, indicating that the two of them remain silent. "Where is Abigail Hobbs now?"

Hesitant, Will said, "With Beverly. She agreed to care for her until I made the necessary arrangements."

"In other words, the girl hasn't followed through with your expectations?"

"Not exactly."

Appearing unimpressed, Jack looked to Price and asked, "Abigail's paperwork says she's been cremated?"

"Yep."

"Then who are we to disturb the dead?" Redirecting his gaze to Will, he instructed, "You're going to go to that girl and take back the life you gave. Do you understand?"

Will appeared aghast. "I can't do that, Jack."

"You can, and you will. She's too much of a liability."

"Thus far, she's stayed indoors and hasn't interacted with anyone. Besides, she died in Minnesota, which is practically on the other side of the country! No one will recognize her. And if they do?" Will shrugged. "They'll just accept that she looks remarkably like a dead girl."

Jack frowned. "How are we going to explain the wound on her neck?"

"Beverly's given her a scarf until it heals."

Zeller scoffed. "Well you just have an answer for everything, don't you? Sooner or later, you're going to slip up, and it'll be our asses in hot water."

"I'll worry about that whenever that moment arrives," Will said. "In the meantime, please allow me to help and care for Abigail. She doesn't have anyone."

"Oh, and I suppose you think she'll want you around?" Zeller spat. "You helped kill her dad, and _did_ kill her mom, so I'm not exactly seeing how this is going to spell out a happy ending."

"Alright, enough!" Jack thundered. When all was silent, he pointed a finger at Will and said, "You've got a week – _one week_ – to work this out. If Abigail wants to 'return from whence she came,' you're damn well going to grant her that wish. Do you understand me?"

Will swallowed, but nodded stiffly.

"Good. Now if you'll excuse me, I have more of your mess to clean up."

After Jack had left, Zeller crisply added, "You'd better start picking out a burial plot for that girl, Graham."

Will ignored him. Instead, he only focused on how he needed to go back on Beverly's request and see Abigail, if only for a moment.

* * *

 

"So why isn't this whole thing weird to you? For someone who's just come back to life, you're taking it awfully well."

Setting her book down, Abigail watched Beverly as she brought a tray of food into the room. "I'd say it's more of a case of shock than actual acceptance."

Beverly nodded, then took note of the girl's expression when she saw the food. "Look, I know it's not Betty Crocker, but it'll do. I barely have enough time to take care of myself, let alone an extra person." Placing a fork down beside the TV dinner, she wryly added, "Voila."

"I've had worse," Abigail lied. Her parents had always been self-sufficient, and in turn had taught her how to grow vegetables, harvest them, and prepare her own meals. "I would've gladly cooked for the two of us, if I'd known what you were doing."

"Yeah, well it's too late now. Dig in."

Setting the tray into her lap, Abigail poked at the gelatinous meat before deciding to change the subject. "That profiler, Will Graham…how did he even get this gift? It sounds like something you'd read about in a comic book."

"Well, he wasn't bitten by a radioactive maggot, if that's what you mean." Beverly grinned. "Get it? 'Cause maggots are associated with death, and…" She waved a hand, sighing. "Never mind. The truth is, Jack Crawford was the one who discovered Will. I never got the full story, but it had something to do with a woman getting hit by a car, and then Will accidentally brought her back. Apparently, he'd thought she was still alive when he touched her. Jack had been the only one to witness what happened."

Abigail frowned. "Then Will doesn't know why it happens either?"

"Nope. And truthfully? I think he hates the burden his gift brings. He's more or less in solitary confinement. I think he must be punishing himself, but I'm not exactly sure why."

Abigail set her fork down. "Well, maybe he should," she coolly said. "He had no right to bring me back."

"Maybe," Beverly agreed, "but can you really hate the guy for wanting to give you a second chance?"

"He killed my mom."

"It was an unfortunate accident," she reminded her.

"I don't care what it was," Abigail spat. "Because of him, both of my parents are gone, and I can't even go to their funerals, 'cause I'm supposed to be gone!"

Beverly moistened her mouth. "Well, we could always look into cremating them? At least that way, you could possibly scatter their ashes."

Abigail said nothing right away, though there was a softening of appeasement in her gaze. "Do you trust Will?"

"Sure, why do you ask?"

"Well I mean, do you trust him to do the right thing?"

Beverly nodded.

"Good," Abigail said, "because when I see him again, I'm going to ask him to touch me."


	3. Revelations

Beverly's apartment was secluded, as far as most complexes went. It was at the end of a long, bumpy road, which then forked off into a series of apartments. After finding the right one, Will rapped on the door and impatiently waited. Beverly opened the door not long after.

"Hey," he greeted, "I'm sorry for stopping by unannounced, but I was hoping to visit with Abigail for a while."

Beverly sighed. "The kid wants to die, Graham."

"What?"

"She said she's going to ask you to touch her."

Paling, Will shook his head. "I…I can't do that."

"But isn't it unfair to keep her here if it's not what she wants? Honestly, Will, I don't understand what you're getting out of this."

"Can I see her or not?"

Scowling, Beverly gave a sarcastic motion and stepped back, allowing him enough room to pass.

"Thank you," Will said. When he spotted Abigail on the couch, he offered what he hoped to be a disarming smile. "Hi."

Abigail, unfortunately, was not nearly as receptive. "If you're here to try and win my favor, I'm going to save you the trouble," she coolly said. "I still haven't forgiven you for what you've done, and unless you're here to undo everything, I _don't_ want to talk to you."

"Beverly, uh…could you give us a minute?"

"Why?" Abigail snapped. "I think I've made myself perfectly clear."

Nevertheless, Beverly left the room and Will moved to stand in front of Abigail, his hands slipping into the safety of his pockets as he studied her molten gaze. "Look, I know you're angry, but-"

"Why me?" she pressed. "There are billions of people in this world, Will, but you chose _me_ to bring back. Why?"

"W-well-"

"I'm not supposed to be here!"

"But you _are,"_ Will argued. "I found you for a reason!"

"And what reason would that be? Because truthfully, I don't understand what you want from me, and nothing I come up with makes any sense!"

Will swallowed low in his throat. "I…honestly don't know."

"You don't _know?"_ Abigail gave an incredulous laugh. "I'm supposed to sit back and fulfill whatever twisted whims you have based on _no good reason?_ I'm sorry, but I need more than that!"

"And you deserve more," Will weakly agreed. "I just…I didn't feel right letting you die without experiencing what so many kids your age get to experience on a daily basis."

Abigail scoffed. "Well just so long as _you_ feel better, right? And I'm not a kid."

Will pressed his lips together, nodding slowly. "I get why you're mad – I know it may seem like I'm not hearing you, but I do – I _am._ All I ask is that you try this out for at least a week. Your mother _died_ so you could live, Abigail. Would you really waste that sacrifice?"

The blood drained from Abigail's cheeks. "Did you seriously just throw my mom's death – a death she didn't even _choose_ – in my face?"

"W-well-"

"You're unbelievable." Rising up from the couch, she approached him with purpose. "If I tell you to touch me, you'd damn well better."

"Abigail…"

In a rage, she slapped his arm, but became dismayed when the life didn't drain from her body. Will was covered from head to toe – perhaps only bare skin contact enacted the gift?

"Let me see your hands," she commanded.

"No."

Beverly chose that moment to reappear. The situation might have seemed comical, what with Abigail fiercely yanking on Will's clothed elbow, and Will just as fiercely yanking back, but judging by the way Will was keeping both hands jammed protectively into his pockets, she knew exactly what was going on. "Alright, that's enough!"

The two froze akin to naughty children.

"Will, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

He nodded. "That seems to be the safest option."

"Safest for me, or for _you?"_ Abigail seethed.

Ignoring her, Will turned and headed for the door. "I'll meet you back at the lab," he told Beverly. "Thanks for letting me stop by."

"See you soon." After he'd left, she turned back to give Abigail a sympathetic glance. "I'm sorry about that, kiddo. If I'd known he wouldn't grant you your request, I would've asked him to leave."

"It's alright," Abigail softly said. Her face was pale and drawn as she had a seat. "I mean, in a way, maybe he's right…maybe I _am_ lucky to have this second chance. It's just difficult to feel any good will toward the man who not only killed my mom, but made such a huge decision without my permission." She smiled bitterly. "Not that he could've asked."

"No, he definitely could have," Beverly said. "Once Will brings someone back, he has 60 seconds before the returned life is traded for another. When he touched you, he could've easily asked if this was the life you wanted, but he didn't…and I didn't either. And for that I'm sorry."

Abigail swallowed past the dryness in her throat. "Well…I suppose now it's too late. He's right in the sense that if I give up the gift now, my mom will have died for nothing."

Beverly bristled. "Did he seriously say that to you? God, if he wasn't so damn valuable to the team, I'd kill him myself!"

"It's alright."

"No, it's really not. He has no right to guilt you into returning his affections."

Abigail cringed at the implication, her fingers nervously fiddling with the neckline of her sweater. "Has he ever done this before? Brought someone back and just… _expected_ them to be okay with everything?"

"No, never, which is why I'm so perplexed." Beverly paused. "Then again, you _are_ the first death he's inadvertently caused on the field, so it probably got to him in a bad way. He feels responsible for you."

"But he's _not."_

"No, he's not," Beverly agreed, "but it's going to be difficult to get him to ease up. Or at least, it will be at first." Now motioning to the door, she added, "I'm going to head in to the lab now. Will you be okay here by yourself?"

Abigail nodded.

"Alright, great. See you in a little while."

* * *

"What's all this?"

Everyone looked up when Beverly entered the room, Will appearing especially dejected as Price held out a leather-bound book for her perusal.

"Mrs. Hobbs _knew_ about her husband's practices," he said, pointing to a particular passage. "She kept a diary that detailed everything – the girls Hobbs went after, where they lived, where they ultimately ended up – and it seems she was complicit in these killings."

"Meaning she helped?"

"Meaning she looked the other way," Zeller said. "She wrote about loving Abigail, but she was too scared to come forward. She didn't think it would ever come to this…to him going after their own child, 'cause he promised he wouldn't."

Beverly's expression grew grave. "Is this information going to be leaked to the public?"

"Not right away," Price said, "which is why we're trying to cover as much ground as we can before the shitstorm."

Will rubbed the back of his neck. "But do we _have_ to release this information? She and Hobbs are both dead – the public _has_ their killer – so why ruin the memory of both the people Abigail loved?"

"She has a right to know," Beverly countered.

"I agree with you, but it still feels too soon. Is it so awful to let her keep believing a lie? And one that ultimately helps her?"

"That is _not_ your call to make."

"Well yes, but-"

"You've made _more_ than enough decisions for Abigail Hobbs already. I think she's a lot stronger than you're giving her credit for."

Looking between the group with pained, uncertain eyes, Will released a breath and nodded. "Alright, but…I should be the one to tell her."

"No," Beverly argued, "you shouldn't. You're currently a figure of dissent. She'll need someone around who not only understands, but can serve as a comforting presence. _I'll_ tell her."

Zeller and Price exchanged amused glances while Will nodded, put-off, but not without understanding Beverly's rationale. "Alright," he softly agreed. "Will I be able to see her later?"

"I'll ask. Yet again, I think it should be _her_ decision. You really need to learn to let her be in control, Will."

Again, he nodded. "You're right. I just…I'm going to go home and study the De Salmo folder." Without waiting for a reply, he ducked his head and quickly made a beeline for the double doors.

* * *

When Beverly found Abigail that evening, the girl was curled up in the window seat with a book, her eyes lifting as she offered a soft smile.

"Hey, there," Beverly greeted. "Can we talk?"

Nodding, Abigail set her book off to the side and curled her legs in toward her chest, now wrapping her arms around her knees.

Beverly released a breath. She was trained in this sort of thing, but with Abigail's situation, it somehow seemed far more difficult.

Abigail seemed to sense this and frowned. "What's wrong?"

"It's your mom…while scouring your house, we found some troubling evidence."

"Like what? Please, Beverly, I need to know."

 _Did she?_   Maybe Will was right – maybe Abigail _would_ be better off without this knowledge. Shaking the thought from her mind, Beverly tried again, "It seems that your mom wasn't being honest with you – with anyone. She knew all about your father's extracurricular practices. She kept a diary accounting for everything: whom he targeted, what they looked like, and how he did it. I'm so sorry, Abigail."

Abigail sat there in silence for a long moment, not truly seeing or hearing as she vainly struggled to process what was being said.

"Abigail?"

"Why didn't Will tell me?" she choked.

Beverly shook her head. "He'd rather you hate him than your own mother – he was strongly opposed to letting you know the truth."

Abigail scoffed. "What, so you all knew this _morning?_   When he was here?"

"No…we found out later this afternoon."

Shaking her head, Abigail miserably asked, "Why does he care? He didn't even _know_ my mom…though he could've, if he hadn't _killed_ her."

Beverly winced. "I don't know why, and like we've already established, I don't think he truly knows, either." Now pausing to reach into her satchel, she pulled out the leather-bound journal and handed it toward Abigail. "This is your mother's diary," she softly said. "You can read it if you want. We've already gotten what we need from it, so you can hold onto it for a little while."

"No thank you."

"Alright, but if you ever-"

"Please, just go."

Nodding, Beverly rose from the window seat and headed for her own bedroom. She knew better than to press her luck.

As soon as the door closed, Abigail grabbed the journal and hurled it across the room, a soft, tortured sob catching in her throat as she clapped her hands over her face.

* * *

It was late. With his profile illuminated by the firelight from his office fireplace, Dr. Hannibal Lecter sat poring over a particular article on his iPad. Ever since Will's refusal to return to therapy, he had taken a special interest in the Hobbs family. Specifically, one Abigail Hobbs. There had been something so peculiar – so _curious_ – about the way Will had alternately referred to the girl as both living and deceased. Perhaps his instincts were correct. Perhaps there _was_ no young girl to mourn.

After dialing the number to the state city morgue of Duluth, Hannibal lifted his phone to his ear and waited. When prompted, he said, "Yes, hello, this is Dr. Hannibal Lecter from the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Might I have a word with one of your medical supervisors?"

The ever-dreaded elevator music piped in over the line, and Hannibal was forced to wait. And wait he did, for _five whole minutes,_ before a woman's voice beckoned to him.

"This is Dr. Kathleen Pritchard speaking."

"Yes, good evening," Hannibal greeted. "Earlier this week, there was a crime scene involving Garrett, Louise, and Abigail Hobbs. I was wondering what has become of their bodies?"

"Well…" There came a pause, then the sound of a clicking computer mouse before she finished, "Mr. Hobbs was initially kept for evidence, but now his body is being donated to science. Mrs. Hobbs is scheduled to be cremated tomorrow morning, and…hmm."

"What is it?"

"It's funny… I'd seen Abigail's paperwork, but it appears to have been changed. Initially, she was supposed to be cremated here like her mother, but now, she's since been transferred to a facility in Baltimore."

"I see. Thank you very much, Doctor, you have been a great help." Hanging up, Hannibal canted his head and returned his gaze to the smoldering flames.


	4. A Small Truce

"I want to go out today."

Beverly stopped chewing her breakfast bar, her eyes wide as she immediately shook her head. "You know you can't do that." Swallowing the bite, she set her breakfast off to the side and turned back toward the girl. "If anyone recognizes you, that'd be the end for us."

Abigail frowned. "How so?"

"Well, isn't it obvious? You're supposed to be dead. If people start asking questions, you'll be taken away for scientists to study. Do you _truly_ want that?"

"No…" Curling in on herself, Abigail sighed and leaned against the counter. "Can't I go incognito? Like, dye my hair and wear sunglasses? Baltimore's far enough away that-"

"Your face is all over the news," Beverly argued. "It's too dangerous."

"Okay," Abigail whispered. "I get it, Beverly, I _do,_ but…I just hoped I could see more than these four walls for a change. I mean, if Will really wants me to live up to this second chance, how can I do that when I'm stuck inside all the time?"

"You're right." Stern expression softening, Beverly regarded her and sighed. "You can't go out _here,_ but how do you feel about a more woodsy, secluded area?"

"I'd love it," Abigail quickly assured her. "To be honest, I'd feel more at home in the woods…I've always been deeply in tune with nature growing up."

"Well, you're probably not going to like it, but the one person who could give you that, and _safely,_ is Will Graham."

Abigail paled. "You mean…I would live with him? _Alone?"_

"Well, if I'm being perfectly honest, that's been the goal all along. My fiancé is coming home in a few days, and I doubt he'll want you sticking around for long."

"Oh…" Brow creasing, Abigail nervously fiddled with her scarf as she allowed this bit of news to sink in.

"Look, I know things are still rocky between you two, but he's got a secluded farmhouse with miles of land, and enough space that you'd barely even have to see each other."

Abigail released a breath. "I'll admit that sounds wonderful, but what's to stop him from continuously horning in on my decisions?"

"He's agreed to let you set up some boundary rules, and on your _own_ terms."

"Really?"

Beverly nodded.

"Well…" Twisting her hands, Abigail chewed her lip while nodding slowly. "Alright," she agreed, "we can give this a try. But the minute he starts doing something I don't like, I want to be able to leave."

"Fair enough."

"With you?"

"I'd have to talk with Charlie."

Nodding, Abigail asked, "Could we go soon? I want to get this over with. The faster I settle in, the faster I can explain to Will what's acceptable and what's not."

Beverly smiled. "Sure thing, kiddo. Just let me grab my coat."

* * *

Will was fashioning a new lure when he heard his dogs' loud, ecstatic yapping from out front. Brow furrowing, he rose from his seat and stumbled over to the window, peering out just in time to see Beverly helping Abigail up the walkway with a few overnight bags.

Will's heart leapt into his throat. Quickly abandoning his post, he flung open the door and stepped out onto the porch.

"Hey, there!" Beverly called to him. "Guess who's in dire need of a change of scenery?"

All at once, Will's dogs charged past his legs and hurtled down to greet his guests, their tongues lolling and tails wagging as they sought the women's attention.

Overjoyed, Abigail set down her bags and dropped to her knees, laughing as she embraced two overzealous mutts and rubbed at their flanks.

Will was warmed by the sight. "That's Roscoe and Buster," he informed her. "Do you need any help with your bags?"

"No, thank you," she assured him, still smiling as she stroked the dogs' soft fur. "I didn't know you had any pets."

"Boy, does he ever," Beverly quipped. "Between you and me, I think he's pushing the legal state limit."

"The legal limit is ten," Will grumbled.

"As I said: he's _pushing_ it. You have what, seven?"

"Last time I checked."

Fetching her bags again, Abigail brightened. "I've always loved animals," she told them. "When I was younger, I wanted a pet, but my dad always said no. As twisted as it sounds, now that I look back, maybe he didn't want to share my affections with anyone, or any _thing."_

"Or he was worried he might hurt the animal," Will softly agreed. Ducking his eyes, he pushed the door open to allow her enough room to pass. "If you'd like, I can show you to your room. It's just at the end of the hall."

"Yes, please."

Sparing Beverly an incredulous look – why was Abigail suddenly being so _polite?_ – Will led the two women indoors and cleared his throat. "I was just preparing a pot of soup, but I could always make something else, if you're hungry." Seeming to remember himself, he added, "And you're more than welcome to join us, Beverly."

"No, thanks. I need to head in to the lab before long, but by all means! You two kids have fun."

Will smiled weakly. Somehow, the thought of having Beverly stay on as a type of buffer had been more reassuring. "Alright, well…thanks for stopping by. We'll be in touch."

"Damn right, we will – don't forget to come in to work tomorrow!"

Waving her off, Will walked Beverly out to her car before returning inside. Abigail was curiously inspecting the photographs on the wall, so he cleared his throat, immediately garnering her attention.

"Is this your dad?"

Fortunately, Abigail was still staring at the individual pictures, so she failed to notice the wince that tore across Will's face. "Yes," he softly said. "He, uh…he passed away a couple years ago."

"Oh…" Abigail's smile faded. "I'm so sorry. I guess he was a fishing enthusiast? That's a huge trout."

"Blue gill, actually." Flushing, Will apologized, "Sorry… I guess you could say we're _both_ enthusiasts." As Abigail moved away from the wall, he amended, "Look, Abigail, I-"

"No, me first," she cut in. "I'm very appreciative of you opening up your home for me. I know we haven't had the greatest track record, but I'm not incapable of recognizing a kindness. However…" She raised a finger. "Beverly informed me I'd be able to lay down my own set of ground rules, so I intend to do that before either of us can step on each other's toes."

Will's brow furrowed, but he nodded. "Alright, go ahead."

"Thank you." Coming into the kitchen, she hoisted herself up onto a stool and folded her hands. "First and foremost, I would like you to respect my privacy. There's no need to check in on me 24-7 – I may be resentful, but I _am_ capable of asking for help when I need it. Pride doesn't cloud my judgment like with some people. Secondly…" She laughed, startled by Buster pressing his wet nose against her ankle. Bending over to pet him, she continued, "I need my own space. If I want your company, I'll come to you, _not_ the other way around. Please don't invite me to do anything with you, no matter how tempting."

Will winced. Well, so much for his master plan… "Alright," he agreed, "those rules are feasible and fair. I'll admit I was expecting more of a fight."

Abigail shrugged. "Yeah, well…maybe after finding out that both of my parents are awful people, you don't seem so bad in comparison. I still believe you deserved everything I said, but I might've been too hasty. You were _mostly_ just doing your job."

Will sighed, now moving the bubbling pot of soup to a different burner. "Your parents weren't awful people," he said. "Your father did some awful things, but he was sick…and your mother loved him and was too frightened to come forward. You'd be surprised how often this sort of scenario presents itself in cases."

"You don't have to protect me."

"What?"

"This…" Abigail gestured between them. "This whole reassurance ploy – I don't need it. I just want the truth."

"What I'm saying _is_ the truth. Your parents were troubled, but I don't believe they were bad people." Ladling them each a bowl of soup, Will set their meals onto the dinner table and pulled up a chair. "I wish I could provide you with some answers, Abigail, but I don't have them."

"You could wake my father? Maybe let me talk to him?"

Hating how difficult it was to deny the young woman sitting across from him, Will lifted his spoon and cleared his throat. "Your father is being donated to science, but I could certainly check into it, if…if it's that important to you."

"It is," Abigail said. "I want to know so much…like why he felt compelled to kill me, and why I was never enough. I want to know if he truly loved me…if he genuinely _believed_ he was keeping me safe."

Will lowered his eyes. "I can make some calls in the morning."

"So is this what you do?"

"What?"

"Go to all sorts of morgues and just…talk to dead people all day long?"

"More or less." Appearing discomforted, Will took a long sip from his glass of whiskey. "Despite the temptation of requests, I refuse to abuse my gift. I only use it to help people."

"So what, are you like a superhero or something? Do you have some dark, tragic back story that catapulted you into instant heroics?"

Will chuckled, though there was a sadness to his eyes. "No, no, nothing like that…I have a rather cliché back story, if I'm being truthful."

"Most back stories _are_ cliché."

"Yours isn't."

Mouth twisting, Abigail finally lifted her spoon and sampled the broth. "Wow," she snidely said, "this soup from a can is five star-worthy."

"Campbell's to the rescue," Will said just as sardonically. "I'm sorry if I offended you just now. If it wasn't obvious, I don't think either of us is particularly good with tact. Whenever pressed about my past, I can become a bit _defensive,_ to say the least. It's no excuse, but I still wanted to apologize."

"Why? What's so bad about your past?"

"I'd rather not discuss it, if it's all the same to you."

"And how is that fair? You know more about my family than most are privy, and I know next to nothing about you."

Will winced. "I see your point, but…I still think I'd rather save this conversation for another day."

"Fine." Abigail's tone was icy. "I'd like to finish dinner in my room."

"I'd rather you didn't. That bedspread was hand-quilted by my gr-"

"I _said_ I'd like to finish dinner in my _room."_ Rising from the table with her soup and milk, Abigail pointedly turned and headed for the guest bedroom.

Will sagged against the table and pinched his nose.

* * *

Later that evening, Abigail stood out in the open field with Will's dogs, smiling as her feet crunched through the ice-encrusted grass. Will had been asked to come in to the lab, so she'd agreed to stay behind and care for the dogs while he was away.

Winston nudged at her hand and she smiled. With a silvery puff of air drifting from her lips, Abigail felt completely in her element out there in the open terrain. Or at least, she had until a fancy Italian sports car pulled into the driveway.

Growling and yapping, two of the dogs protectively circled Abigail while the rest bounded over to investigate. She frowned as a tall blonde man stepped into view. He bent at the waist slightly, attempting to assuage the canines as he moved.

"Can I help you?" Abigail felt overly polite as she approached him, Buster growling at her side as the man stopped before her.

"Perhaps," he agreed. "I am Dr. Hannibal Lecter, Will's former psychiatrist."

She arched a brow. "I didn't know he was in therapy."

"Oh my, yes. Any time an agent endures a traumatizing event, they are required to speak with a therapist. In his case, it was the tragic circumstance of your family, Abigail."

"How…h-how do you know my name?"

"I work quite closely with the FBI. Although unorthodox, I was privy to the goings-on of your case."

Abigail nodded, seeming to accept this. "And you're here because…?"

"Quite recently, Will decided he did not wish to continue our sessions. If at all possible, I would like _you_ to convince him of otherwise."

 _"Me?"_ Expression pinched, Abigail asked, "No offense, but if you're so concerned, why don't you ask him yourself?"

Hannibal shook his head. "Do you truly believe he would listen to a physician over yourself? He _needs_ therapy, Abigail, and it is imperative that he receive it."

Lowering her eyes toward the snuffling dogs, Abigail found herself wondering if perhaps therapy would help Will stop using her as a crutch. "Alright," she agreed. "I'll ask him."

"Splendid."

"Oh, and Doctor?"

Hannibal turned away from the car, regarding her curiously. "Yes?"

"You won't tell anyone about my secret, will you?"

"That you are alive and well? Oh, don't worry, Abigail – your secret is quite safe with me." Wearing a serpentine smile, he nodded to her before getting into his car.


	5. Back to Therapy

"Are you sure you're feeling okay?"

Will looked up from the onions he was chopping, his hands in gloves to prevent the vegetables from restoring to a live state. "Why do you ask?"

"Well...Beverly told me you had therapy after everything happened," Abigail lied. "I don't think you should stop just because I'm back."

He frowned, now setting down his knife. "Do you think I'm unable to handle myself?"

"No, but you only had what, a couple sessions?"

"Just one, actually."

"See? You can't come to terms with everything after just _one_ talk."

"Everyone handles guilt and grief differently."

Abigail sighed through her nose, now aiding in the chopping of vegetables. She had decided against bringing up Hannibal's visit, because she had a feeling Will would be unreceptive. Apparently her instincts had been completely correct. But if these past several days had taught her anything, it was that Will would do just about anything to please her. She'd admittedly started to abuse this advantage.

Feigning sadness, Abigail said, "Well alright, but…it's just that I'd feel _safer_ knowing you were getting help."

Will's posture stiffened. "What are you saying?"

"Well, in true crime stories, sometimes the traumatized person ends up lashing out and hurting someone."

"Do you honestly think I'd hurt you?"

Abigail shrugged, her expression so timid that Will felt his heart clench.

"Jesus," he swore. "Abigail, I would _never_ …I-I mean…" Releasing a breath, he dragged a hand down his face. "Look, I know I'm okay, but if it'll put your mind at ease, I…I'll go back."

"You promise?"

He nodded. "I'll give Dr. Lecter a call after lunch."

Smiling, Abigail gathered up her chopped carrots and dumped them into the pot. With her part of the bargain now complete, she could only hope that Hannibal would find a way to loosen Will's hold on her.

* * *

"I must admit, I was surprised to receive your call."

"Believe me, no one's more surprised than I am," Will muttered. "I just…I decided that maybe I'd been too hasty in ending therapy. You always read about people in my position going off the deep end, so I wanted to make sure that never happens."

"A wise decision," Hannibal agreed. "Where would you like to begin? Perhaps with Abigail Hobbs?"

Will flinched, his hands flexing as he continued to pace. Abigail wasn't a problem he could discuss in full. "I'd rather not," he said.

"The fact you do not wish to speak of her suggests she is exactly what we _should_ address."

"Abigail is _not_ the problem here."

"And why ever not? Is it because she never actually met her maker?"

Will abruptly stopped pacing, his eyes wide and his face ashen. "Who…? Wh-what…?"

"The FBI has been careless," Hannibal said, hands folding over his knee. "The discrepancies with Abigail's file show she was originally scheduled for cremation in Duluth today, only to instead be transferred to a facility in Baltimore. I called them. They are unaware of any such appointment, and never once had custody of her body."

Will swallowed dryly. "What do you want?"

"I beg your pardon?"

 _"What_ do you _want?_ You've brought this to my attention, so clearly you want something."

"On the contrary. I am merely curious as to why you felt it necessary as an establishment to fake this girl's death. In addition, I would like to help you in any way that I can."

Will's eyes narrowed. "What else do you know? Clearly, you've been doing your research."

"Very little," Hannibal assured him, "but whatever the issue, I can tell it is weighing quite heavily upon your shoulders. If you would do me the honor of unburdening that weight, I truly believe we can get to the crux of your issue."

"I already _know_ my issue," Will bitterly said.

"And yet you feel unable to speak freely?"

"Yes."

"I see." Motioning toward him, Hannibal asked, "And is the FBI privy to your issue, or are you shouldering all of this on your own?"

"A little of column A, a little of column B. If I were to speak freely about my services, we would be put under immediate investigation." With tired eyes, Will finally had a seat, his stance earnest and imploring. "If you breathe one word about Abigail to anyone, and I mean _anyone,_ she _will_ be the one to suffer. So please, Doctor…if you have some sort of personal vendetta against the Bureau, _please_ don't go about it in this way."

Hannibal canted his head. "I have no interest in exposing anything. As I've said, I merely wish to help you unburden. You carry a secret with you, Will, and I can tell it is slowly destroying you from the inside out."

Will rested his forehead against his hands. "I can't," he whispered. "Jack found out by accident, and his team of analysts were all sworn to secrecy. I've never truly opened up about this to anyone…and I don't truly know how to describe it."

"Try."

Shaking his head, Will rose again and raked a hand through his hair. "How do I even know if I can trust you? You're an outside party."

"An outside party who was dispatched by Jack Crawford," Hannibal reminded him. "Clearly, your employer trusts me to some degree."

Will exhaled. "Be that as it may, I'd like him to clear you first. Until then, I'm not letting you in the loop."

Hannibal's posture went rigid, but his eyes did not reflect his displeasure. "Very well. But seeing how I am your therapist, I cannot fully help your mental state until you let me know of everything else that's been happening."

"I'll keep that in mind," Will muttered. Swiping his coat off the chair, he opened the door and left without looking back.

* * *

"You can't be serious."

Jack shrugged, looking up at Will from behind his desk. "Unfortunately, Hannibal makes a sound point, Will. He is your therapist, and without significant insight, he can't truly help you heal."

"But I don't _need_ healing. The source of my guilt is alive, and I no longer see Hobbs when I close my eyes at night."

Jack frowned. "That may be true, but I trust Dr. Lecter, and would like you to trust _my_ judgment."

"How do you know him?"

"He was referred to me by a colleague, who was then lauded by _another_ colleague, so the medical field has nothing but praise for him."

Frustrated, Will agreed, "That's all good and well, but what about the fact we keep expanding our inner circle? Sooner or later, _someone_ is going to let my gift slip to the public, and then we'll all be screwed from here to Sunday."

"I won't let that happen."

"How?"

"Just _trust_ me on this. Speak to Dr. Lecter. Having a therapist in on your secret could actually be beneficial to the team, seeing how none of us have any true outlet on this situation."

Ducking his head, Will nodded. "You're right… I'd never taken into account how you and everyone else must feel. The team always seems so-"

"Pleasant and together? You're not the only one putting up a front, Graham."

Nodding, Will turned toward the door and left Jack's office.

* * *

"So how'd it go?"

Shrugging out of his coat, Will sighed and tossed it carelessly over the back of a chair. "It could've gone better," he admitted. "How were things here with you and the dogs?"

"Same answer. The one with the overbite has a thing for shoes."

"Oh…sorry."

Amused, Abigail waved it off and opened up the oven, now reaching inside with her mitts and pulling out a blueberry pie. "Finally! I've been at it all day."

"What's this for?" Will asked, feeling his stomach growl in spite of himself.

"Nothing, really…I just missed baking. Back at home, I used to do it all the time, 'cause my parents and I would grow and harvest our own fruits and vegetables. My dad believed in being very frugal." Waving the steam from the pie, Abigail said, "If you grab some plates, I can cut you a slice."

Will blinked, a bit overcome by how domestic this all felt. Nevertheless, he grabbed two plates and forks before setting them onto the counter. "It smells wonderful."

"Of course it does," Abigail coyly agreed. "I've only been making this recipe for the past 14 years now."

"You've been baking since you were five?"

"More or less." Depositing a piece of pie onto Will's plate, she smiled and handed it over (albeit carefully). Baking always put her in a good mood.

"I'm surprised the dogs aren't out here harassing us," Will admitted, "though I see you've got a bit of flour there on the end of your nose."

Scrunching up her face in surprise, Abigail daintily rubbed her nose before sneezing from the loosened flour.

Will laughed.

Unimpressed, Abigail asked him, "So how does it taste? I've never really made anything for someone outside of my family."

Faltering, Will's smile faded, if only for a moment, before he lifted the fork to his lips and sampled the dessert. The flavor was truly remarkable. With a brightness to his eyes, he nodded once and assured her, "This is the best pie I've had in years."

"I think you mean _ever,_ but I guess I'll accept that."

Chuckling, Will moved over and had a seat at the dinner table. "I called the State Anatomical Program today."

"Oh?"

"They'll allow me to see your father's body tomorrow at 8:30, if you think you'll be up to it."

Sinking down into the seat across from him, Abigail nodded. "Yes, Will, I really want to go. Or rather, I _need_ to."

"Then it's settled. As long as you're up in time, it should only be about a half hour drive."

"And what about me?"

"What do you mean?"

"Should I wear a disguise?"

"Oh…" Frowning, Will motioned to the scarf on her neck and said, "You can wrap that around your head and throat like women did with old Hollywood glamour. You can also borrow a pair of sunglasses, if you'd like."

Abigail nodded. "And I'll wear one of those dresses Beverly gave me. Maybe at some point I should dye my hair?"

"If you want."

Beaming, Abigail surprised Will when she suddenly embraced herself around the middle, her eyes soft and bright as she said, "Pretend this is me hugging you. I know it might seem silly, but this is very important to me…probably more important than you could ever possibly know."

Hesitant, Will set down his fork before mirroring her embrace with one of his own. "You're very welcome," he said.

The two sat there smiling, and for the first time in what felt like years, Will realized that he felt truly, genuinely appreciated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for the sudden surge in support! It's helped my inspiration in more ways than you could ever possibly know! :) In the meantime, feel free to follow me on Tumblr (musicboxmcmories) or YouTube (KendraLuehr) for my shippy nonsense and edits/artwork/vids/fics.


	6. The Ugly Truth

"Are you ready to go?"

Abigail came rushing out of her bedroom, covered from head to toe in the disguise they had proposed the night before.

Unable to help it, Will smiled. "You look very nice."

"Do I? How can you tell? These sunglasses are practically covering my entire face," Abigail said, lifting them up with a jaunty grin. "Does anyone else know where we're going?"

"Nope, not a soul. Your secret's safe," Will assured her. "Just try and keep in mind that you'll only have 60 seconds, so it'd be wise to plan out exactly what you want to say."

"Oh, don't worry, I've thought about this for a long while now." Following Will out to his car, she added, "I just hope this will give me more answers than questions."

"It's possible it'll be the other way around," Will said. Sliding into the driver's seat, he waited for her to join him. "More often than not, the corpses are disoriented, and a good portion of our time is taken up with explaining their situation."

"That won't happen," Abigail promised. "If I'm every bit as important to him as he claimed, he'll listen to me."

Will nodded, and the two drove in silence for a long while. Or at least, until Abigail decided to speak again.

"Can you tell me one thing?"

"Hmm?"

"About your past."

"Oh…well, perhaps," he agreed, already disliking where this was going.

"When did your gift first start?" Almost visibly, Abigail could see the relief flooding over Will's posture. "Don't worry," she mockingly said. "I wasn't going to ask for a heart-to-heart this early in the morning."

Will winced. Clearly it still bothered her that he wasn't quite willing to open up just yet. "I was young," he mumbled. "About six, actually."

"And how did you find out?"

He released a breath. "I was on a fishing trip with my dad, and when we came back to prep the fish, I…accidentally brought a few of them back."

"Yikes. That sounds pretty terrifying."

Remembering his mother's screams, Will huffed and nodded. "I guess you could say that. But whenever I went to catch the squirming fish, each one died instantly. I knew then that there was a caveat in my gift…and then it happened yet again when one of my mom's dogs died. I brought Daisy back, thinking I could help with my mom's pain, but then…the _other_ one died."

"After 60 seconds?"

Will nodded. "Yeah…but I didn't figure that out until after a lot of trial and error. I used bugs as test subjects, because I figured those would have the least problematic impact."

"That must've sucked, feeling all alone like that…" Abigail didn't add that she, too, felt ostracized growing up, seeing how her father had ruled over her social life with an iron fist. Not that too many were interested, anyway. She was a bookworm with a propensity for good grades.

"How did you find out about my dad? I mean, did you ask one of his victims?"

Will nodded, easing the car up a narrow road. "With Elise Nichols, we got very lucky. Despite having been strangled, she was able to tell us a good enough description of your father that we could draw up a picture. And with that, coupled with the construction metal we found on her body, we were able to pick out your father without so much as a…" He trailed off, realizing that there _had_ been a hiccup – a _major_ one, in fact – and he was currently sitting right next to it. "Never mind," he said. "I doubt this is anything you want to hear."

Abigail frowned and pointedly said, "I _asked_ you. I'm not some delicate flower, Will, so you don't have to worry about hurting me."

"Right…sorry."

"Whatever." It would seem that therapy wasn't working, what with Will's constant need to protect and watch over everything she said. Hugging herself for support, Abigail sighed and leaned in toward her window.

* * *

The staff at the State Anatomical Program was more or less accustomed to Will's visits by now, so Abigail only received a minor eyebrow raise from accompanying him. Will had passed her off as an intern, so they were shown in to the morgue.

"It's cold in here," Abigail complained.

"It comes with the territory, I'm afraid," he said, searching for the appropriate drawer. "Here we are…"

Holding herself about the middle, Abigail watched Will as he pulled open the drawer, his back turned toward her and almost protectively shielding her from the sight of her father – pale, blue-grey, and riddled with bullets. She gasped at the gruesome display.

"We don't have to do this," Will quickly assured her. "If it's too much, I…"

"No," Abigail quickly said. "Please, Will…do it."

He nodded. Now setting up the timer on his watch, he held his finger over the corpse, hesitant and uncertain, before tapping the cold flesh of Garrett's arm.

Hobbs jerked upright, startled, before nearly careening over the edge of the slab. He stopped cold at the sight of his daughter. "Abby…"

"Dad," she weakly said. Despite having planned so many questions – so many hurtful, cutting diatribes – Abigail found herself uselessly standing there in mute agony as he reached for her. Fiercely, she jerked back. "Don't," she pleaded.

"45 seconds."

Hobbs squinted curiously at Will, but Abigail was quick to get his attention back on herself. "Dad, why did you do it?"

"Do what?"

 _"This!_   Why did you hurt all those girls and then try to hurt _me?_ Wasn't I enough? Didn't you love me and mom?"

He was quiet for a long moment – long enough that Abigail fearfully looked to Will – before he finally spoke. "I know you're not going to like it, but I don't _have_ a good answer, sweetheart. To be honest, I don't understand it myself. I just…it was a type of _compulsion._ I was so scared that if I didn't kill girls who looked like you, I'd end up actually killing _you_ instead."

"But you _did_ kill me," Abigail said.

"In the end, yes," Hobbs agreed, "but at that point, I didn't see myself making it out of there alive. And to be frank, I didn't _want_ to, because I knew I'd be away from you in prison. But if I could take you with me…"

Abigail took an abrupt step back, tears filling her eyes as she released a breath. "And mom? Why did you force her into this?"

"You can't just blame me, Abby. Your mother was plenty guilty, too."

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Abigail fumbled beside her until her gloved hand found Will's, her fingers tightly grasping his for a sense of stability. Will jerked, startled, before realizing she was alright. The fabric of her gloves had served as a type of barrier.

"15 seconds," he warned.

"Are you at least sorry?" Abigail asked, her throat closing around the words.

"Of course I am, Abby. You're my baby girl – it's my _job_ in life to protect you, and I failed to do that. But perhaps now that you're here, we could…?"

Will abruptly stepped in, tapping Hobbs' forehead and causing him to collapse against the slab.

Overcome by emotion, Abigail burst into tears. She was small enough that her head didn't come anywhere near Will's chin, so she tucked herself in against his chest, her petite frame shaking along with her muffled sobs.

Will wanted so badly to touch her in that moment – to slide his hands into her hair and rub along the soft, heaving curve of her shoulders – but he couldn't. All he could do was stand there uselessly, listening to the tortured crying as she wept the pain and ugliness out of her heart.

* * *

"Good evening, Will."

Will merely nodded, his head bent and eyes downcast as he stepped into Hannibal's office.

"You seem troubled."

"Very perceptive," he snidely said. "I'm sorry, Doctor, but I've had a terrible day."

"Perhaps you are able to speak freely today?"

"Unfortunately, yes. Jack Crawford's given his permission to add you to our exclusive little circle. Here…you need to sign this confidentiality agreement." Setting a series of paperwork onto Hannibal's desk, Will turned and sat on the edge of the wooden framework, his arms folding as he watched the doctor review the fine print.

"This is quite extensive," Hannibal remarked.

Will snorted, nodding in agreement. "I wasn't being flippant when I told you this was a very serious situation."

"No matter. I trust you all implicitly, and I hereby declare my allegiance and utmost support," Hannibal said, signing each individual page. "With this procedure out of the way, where do you wish to begin?"

"It's not as simple as all that," Will said. "My situation is a bit… _supernatural,_ so it's not something so easily addressed."

"I can assure you that I have an open mind. As a licensed physician, I have practiced methods that are both unique and controversial."

"Not _this_ unique," Will muttered. "To my knowledge, I'm the only one of my kind."

"Oh?"

"Yes, I…I have the ability to bring back the dead."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I can restore the dead to a living state."

Hannibal paused, folding his hands over his desk. "Then Abigail Hobbs…?"

"Yes," Will lowly said. "She truly _had_ died, but I brought her back."

"Then why not her family? Garrett and Louise may have done terrible things, but they were still her parents."

Will bitterly shook his head. "I'm afraid it's not that simple. As with any circumstance that seems too good to be true, there's a certain caveat that prevents me from enacting this gift – _permanently_ – too often. If I bring someone back for longer than 60 seconds, someone else must die in their place. With Abigail, I just…I couldn't let her die. And because of that compulsion, her mother happened to be the one who paid the ultimate price."

"And you could not bring her back?"

Will shook his head. "I technically could have, but then yet _another_ person would've had to die. It's a random selection based on proximity, and once I've brought someone back, I can never touch them again…not unless I want them to die for good."

"And is Abigail the first you've brought back to stay?"

"No." Will shook his head. "I mean, she _is_ technically the first human being I've kept alive, but I'd brought back my mother's dog when I was six."

"And why is Abigail your first? Surely you've been tempted before now."

"I have been," Will agreed, "but something about Abigail just made me feel _responsible,_ and now that I've had her in my life, I just…I dunno. Despite the fact I can't touch her, I feel closer to her than anyone I've ever met."

Hannibal canted his head. "And why do you think that is? Could it be your shared trauma?"

Will nodded. "She understands," he agreed. "I don't have to _explain_ things to her, because she already knows. And having someone who understands, no matter how small, is wholly intoxicating. I've never had that sort of connection with anyone before."

"And do you feel dependent on her?"

Exhaling, Will shrugged. "I'll admit I shouldn't worry for her so much, but it shook me up to be responsible for her death. If I hadn't been so impulsive, she might still be alive."

"And she might not," Hannibal countered. "Hobbs was intent on taking his daughter with him, so you might have actually given her more of a fighting chance."

"Maybe…" Sinking heavily into a chair, Will folded his hands and sighed. "Either way, it doesn't matter what I think. Abigail hasn't been the most receptive to her second chance." He chuckled humorlessly. "Not that I can blame her, of course. It can be argued that I acted with selfish intentions."

"And did you?"

"I never even _asked_ her, so yes, I won't deny a selfishness on my part. She also wanted me to take back the life I'd given, but…I refused her request."

"I see." Hannibal leaned forward in his seat. "And has she changed her position on her new life?"

"I think so," Will assented. "She's been far more approachable ever since she came out to live with me. I think she was feeling stifled in Special Agent Katz's apartment." Rubbing at his chin, he softly added, "You've been remarkably receptive about all of this…I can't imagine this being easy to accept."

"It is not my job to accept it," Hannibal assured him, "but rather, I am here to help _you_ accept this lot in life."

Will nodded. "Even so, you didn't ask for any proof."

"The extensive paperwork was all the proof I needed," Hannibal said. "But now that I _am_ aware of your situation, perhaps we should involve Abigail in our sessions."

"I'd rather we didn't."

"In her startling position, she is bound to be feeling some sort of resentment. If left untreated, that resentment could fester into something far worse."

"I agree, but my stance on the matter remains the same. I don't want Abigail involved in any of this."

"Very well."

Now rising from his chair, Will glanced at the clock on the wall. "Speaking of which, I should get back to her. She's had a trying day, so I shouldn't leave her alone for long."

"Did you wish to speak about it?"

Threading his arms through his coat, Will chuckled and headed for the door. "No, thanks. You've taken up more than enough government funding for one day."

* * *

Abigail hadn't been able to help it. After the brief talk with her father, she'd no longer had the heart, nor the resolve, to resist looking at her mother's diary. She now held the pages between her shaking hands, tears blurring her vision as she read the damning words. There was no way of romanticizing this. Louise's confession was clear as day.

"I never wanted to hurt anyone," one particular passage read. "When I first caught Garrett, I didn't want to believe it. Even with the girl's body in his possession, I _still_ refused to believe he was capable of hurting anyone. This was my Garrett, the man I'd fallen in love with. Admittedly, we'd drifted because of Abigail. After her birth, she became Garrett's one and only, and the fact I'd suffered a miscarriage three years earlier made him all the more possessive. As terrible as it may sound, keeping that secret for him and _with_ him made me feel close to my husband again. It felt _good_ to have something that only we two could share, even if it was so horrific that I'd wake up each night with nightmares.

"Despite my harsh words, Abigail needs to know that this was done just as much for her as it was for me. I care for her with all my heart, and in the end, I knew I needed to protect both of the people I love most."

Abigail slammed the diary closed, now tossing it furiously across the room. Still crying silently, she rose and stumbled in the direction of Will's bedroom. She would deny it – she would _always_ deny it – but over the course of the past couple days, Will had slowly started to become a form of comfort. He was a constant in her life, and right now she _needed_ a constant.

Will was still traveling home from Hannibal's office, so Abigail entered the room unnoticed. A few of his dogs followed her inside and watched her as she crawled into Will's bed, snuggling underneath the covers and curling up in a nest of sheets and pillows. Having his scent, his _familiarity_ so close by comforted Abigail. He could not hug her, but in that moment she felt snugly embraced. It was with this warmth and sense of safety that she drifted off into slumber, a slight smile lifting her lips as she dreamed of dogs, the woods, and the man who had given her a second chance.


	7. Leaps and Bounds

When Will arrived home the night before, he hadn't been able to bear the thought of waking Abigail. Instead, he'd nested out on the couch and now suffered the stiff neck and back to prove it.

"Morning!" Abigail entered the room, fresh-faced and pleasant with her hair in two pigtails. She flushed when she took note of Will's sleeping arrangements. "I'm sorry," she apologized, "it's just…I accidentally, uh…"

"No need to explain," Will assured her. "You're more than welcome to my room. Truthfully, I sleep on the couch pretty often. It was no trouble at all."

"Coffee?"

"Please."

After padding into the kitchen, Abigail began preparing the Keurig as she hummed under her breath. Something about the night before had been cathartic, so it now felt as if a significant weight had been lifted from her shoulders. "Do you have therapy today?"

Will sighed. "Yes, at some point, but I thought that maybe…uh…"

"What?" Abigail turned away from the coffeemaker, arching a brow as he sheepishly lowered his eyes.

"Never mind."

"Fine, be mysterious," she countered. "People who keep secrets don't get my world class eggs benedict."

Will smiled shyly, then folded his hands on the table. "I'll tell you later today, Abigail – I promise. It's just that I want things to be perfect, so I'm being more careful than usual."

"Hm, well now I'm _really_ curious."

"Perfect. The snare has been set." With a sly expression, he leaned over and pet Winston beneath the table.

"You give yourself too much credit." Pulling items from the cabinets, she asked, "Cream and sugar?"

"Just a little bit."

Returning to the table with their coffee, Abigail had a seat and scooted forward in her chair. "I was just kidding about the eggs benedict, by the way. Your plate's over there."

With a wry smile, Will rose and fetched his breakfast. "You didn't have to do this, but thank you. I haven't had eggs benedict in about 15 years."

"Really?" Realizing that she was speaking with her mouth full, Abigail flushed before taking a sip of juice. "I get bored easily, so I have an extensive list of breakfast foods I like to alternate between. One day when I was little, our house flooded and I spent the week with my friend, Marissa. We had breakfast Hot Pockets every single morning. Needless to say, that won't ever be on the menu."

Will chuckled. "I hate to say it, but as a bachelor, I tend to gravitate more toward quick, easy meals like that."

"Not while I'm living here, you're not."

Winston barked and Abigail gestured toward him with purpose. "See? Your furry friend agrees with me."

"Traitor," Will said, rubbing the dog behind the ears.

The two ate in amiable silence for a while before Abigail cleared her throat, her eyes lowering toward the table. "I know what you're going to say, but I figured it wouldn't hurt to ask: after being able to go out with you to the morgue yesterday, I was hoping that maybe I could go with you to other places? I mean, as long as I wear a disguise, things should be okay, right?"

Will set down his fork. "I'd really rather you didn't…"

"So that's not a no?"

"It's not a yes, either."

She smiled in triumph. "Still, it's not a no, so I intend to keep trying until you say yes."

He smirked. "Your persistence is admirable. Regardless, I should probably head in to speak with Dr. Lecter."

"Fine. I'll defer the topic for now," she agreed, "but I don't give up so easily."

Will smiled and rose from the table. "I should certainly hope not. C'mon, Winston."

The dog barked and happily followed his master into the other room.

* * *

"You appear to be in high spirits today."

"I am."

Hannibal nodded. "That is quite a shift from earlier. Am I allowed to inquire as to what has brought on this sudden change?"

Folding his hands between his knees, Will shrugged, suddenly appearing beside himself. "Things are going well with Abigail," he said. "She's finally treating me like a friend."

"And that has been your goal all along?"

"Yes. Like I said, we understand one another, so having her close by is comforting."

Hannibal nodded. "And does she seem to share in your sentiment?"

"Meaning…?"

"Meaning, does Abigail seem happier? Is she making evident leaps and bounds toward becoming your friend?"

Will's face shadowed with doubt. "I think so," he said, "but I can't be certain. She might just be buttering me up since she wants to go out more. I, uh…I took her with me to the morgue the other day."

"For what purpose?"

"She wanted to speak with Hobbs."

"I see. And did it go well?"

"Not entirely… Abigail had a bit of an emotional breakdown, but I think it was good for her to learn the truth."

Hannibal shifted a bit. "And do you do this often? Go out to speak with the dead?"

"Not off company time," Will admitted, "but in this case, I couldn't help myself. I actually have to go in to the lab after this, so I can't stay long."

"And are you able to share your findings?"

Will shook his head. "No, I can't. The confidentiality agreement doesn't cover actual cases."

"Recent events would lead one to assume you're working on the high profile Ripper case."

"I can neither confirm nor deny that."

The two sat in silence for a moment, then Hannibal offered, "I could always consult on these cases, should the need ever arise. My medical and psychological background could aid in the profiling process."

Will nodded. "It's not my call to make, but I'm sure Jack would be willing to consider it." Checking his watch, he added, "Oh, uh…I forgot I needed to pick up a few items before stopping at the lab. Looks like I'm going to have to call it quits a bit early."

"Very well." Hannibal's gaze was shadowed and guarded. "Will you be in tomorrow?"

"Yes. Thank you, Dr. Lecter." Rising with a tight smile, Will grabbed his coat and headed for the door, failing to take note of his therapist's introspective expression.

* * *

When Abigail came in after walking the dogs, she heard soft music playing in the living room. Perplexed, she looked down at the chipper pack and said, "Will must be home now. C'mon, guys."

Eager, the canines followed her through the hallway and toward the front of the house, each dog skittering to a stop as Abigail halted in the entryway. She blinked at the setup before her. "What's all this?"

Turning away from his record player, Will flushed and cleared his throat. "Oh, uh…you weren't supposed to come in just yet."

"Was this my surprise?" Her expression turned into that of wry amusement.

"W-well…"

"You're all dressed up."

Appearing painfully embarrassed, Will gestured to his record player with a sigh. "It's just…I remembered you never got to go to prom, so I thought…I-I thought maybe you'd like a fake one of sorts?"

Abigail laughed. "A prom with a party of _two?"_

"Well…"

"It's perfect. Thank you." Her expression warmed, and Will's eyes softened.

"I got you a dress," he shyly said. "I have no idea what size you are, so I had to guestimate. And by the way? This was my first time shopping in the women's section. I'd never received so many dirty looks in all my life."

With a laugh, Abigail teased, "Well maybe you just haven't been paying attention." Now coming forward, she lifted the red, flowy dress off the back of the easy chair and felt her cheeks flush with pleasure. "It's so pretty…" Reverently, she ran her fingers along the fabric. "I've never owned a dress like this before."

"Well, you do now. It's bought and paid for, so it's all yours." Smiling at her infectious warmth, he urged, "Go ahead and try it on."

With a grin, Abigail hugged the gown to her chest and rushed off toward the bathroom. A few of the dogs tried to follow, but Will called them back to give her some privacy.

Abigail, meanwhile, gleefully peeled her clothes off in order to slip into the slinky gown. She hadn't planned on going to prom. Even with Marissa's provocation, the idea of her father ever allowing her to go out had been next to none. Prom nights were notorious for drinking, sex, and bad decisions – there was no way he ever would've condoned the request. But here with Will, Abigail felt oddly safe and content. She was lonely, absolutely, and yearned to reconnect with her friends, but the fact Will strove to protect instead of smother made her more receptive of his tactics. Perhaps therapy was helping after all.

With her dressed zipped up, Abigail clasped her hands in front of her and stepped back into the hallway. Will was fiddling with the record player again, but when he looked up this time, she was pleased to find he did a double-take. Did she really look that different?

Absently straightening the butterfly sleeves, she tried to pronounce her modest cleavage as subtly as possible. She enjoyed the way Will was currently looking at her. It made her feel powerful – in _control._

"Thank you for the dress," she cheerily told him. "It fits like a glove."

"Oh…" Remembering himself, Will quickly grabbed the pair of latex gloves he'd laid out and slipped them on, sheepish as he turned back to her with a pleased little smile. "You look great," he agreed. "I didn't know what you liked, so I went ahead and brought out all my records. I'm afraid I'm not much for modern technology, so this is as good as it gets."

"You won't get any argument from me," she assured him. Abigail loved old records. Back when she was a little girl, she'd sit in the living room listening to her dad's favorite albums, her hair in braids and her knees bent as she'd either read or dance along to the varying tunes. So naturally, in this moment she was filled with warm nostalgia for better days.

Stopping before him, Abigail looked up at Will with a cant of her head. "You know, I never got to learn how to slow dance…or _any_ dance, truthfully," she said. "I didn't get to go to Cotillion, or socials, or senior prom, and all because of my dad. It's kind of funny, thinking back…he delighted in dancing, but I guess he never wanted that for me. Or at least, not with a boy."

Abigail suddenly appeared shy and uncertain. "Maybe you could show me how? Unless, of course, you have two left feet?"

Will was startled by her request, but quickly masked it with a husky laugh. "There are far more skilled dancers equipped for the job, but I suppose I could give it a try."

"And are these 'far more skilled dancers' in your house? 'Cause from the looks of things, I only have you and your abundant dog hoard to choose from," Abigail quipped.

Will stepped forward and put his gloved hands on her waist, and Abigail felt a momentary spark of panic. Boys were always depicted by her father as cruel and lascivious, but in that instant, Will was all sweet smiles and patience. With a tremulous breath, she lifted her eyes and managed to return his gaze. "Okay, and…my hands go here?" She placed her palms against his shoulders. "Right? I've seen so many variations in the movies, so…" She trailed off, suddenly feeling foolish. "Is it weird that you're the first guy I've ever…? Well, I wouldn't say _touched_ since we technically can't, but…?" She laughed nervously. "Never mind, I'm ruining everything. What do I do next?"

"You're doing just fine," Will assured her. "If you want to go super traditional, all you have to do is rock from side to side."

"Okay…so no dipping?"

"Not unless you want to end up in a neck brace."

Abigail laughed, her eyes crinkling warmly around the edges. As a child, she'd laughed and smiled plenty – had been _certain_ she'd have a million laugh lines in life, in fact, but now it almost felt like smiling was an underused muscle. It was oddly pleasant to be able to express herself again. Was this what she would've been like, had her father not snapped, she wondered? Was this how it felt to be marginally _human?_

"That's my foot."

"Oh! Sorry," Abigail apologized, embarrassed as she quickly stepped back.

Chuckling, Will took her hand and coaxed her into a turn, the warmth of her palm bleeding through the glove into his own. "You're a natural," he told her.

"Yeah? Well it's not like there's much to it." Unbeknownst to Abigail, she looked at herself through the same critical eye as her father. Any sort of achievement was always downplayed.

Frowning, Will led her into yet another gentle revolution. "I think you're doing far better than I ever did. I mean, when I had my senior prom, I didn't get to dance because I was notorious for being a klutz."

Abigail snickered. "So you weren't asked to dance?"

"No – in fact, I was paid _not_ to dance."

"Oh, you were not, you liar!"

Will laughed, swaying with her as he shook his head.

"Did you at least go to an after party?"

"Well, if you mean drinking a cheap bottle of wine and getting sick in the back of my friend's car, then yes. Yes, I did."

"Sounds…"

 _"Pathetic?_ Yeah, I won't deny my past shames."

"I was going to say _unpleasant,_ but who am I to put a stop to your self-deprecation?"

Will chuckled. "As much as I'm enjoying this character assassination, I feel that I should let you know that I have other things planned for us."

"Such as?"

"Well, if my cautionary tale didn't give anything away, no fake prom is complete without a little bit of booze."

Abigail arched a brow. "You, a man of the law, want me to participate in underage drinking?"

"Only a small glass… It makes the cheesy horror films more bearable to watch."

With a bright smile, Abigail reached down and took Will's gloved hand in hers. "Alright – lead the way, Mr. Rebellious Lawbreaker."

* * *

After hours, the Quantico morgue was silent and sparse. Very few employees were present at this time of night.

One Hannibal Lecter was currently in the back hall, rushing away from the unconscious security guard he'd just put in a sleeper's hold. With the pass key in hand, he entered the storage room with dark, steely eyes. He would have to make quick work if he wanted to avoid detection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks to all of those who've reviewed and expressed their support thus far. I truly appreciate it, and it helps in more ways than you could ever know! :) The plot is finally starting to get complicated, so it's slowing down my progress. But on the plus side, talking to some of you has helped me develop more of an idea on where I want to take this, so I have an end goal in sight. :) Thanks again!


	8. Reaching Out

"What in God's name happened here last night?"

The science team remained tight-lipped and stony-faced, clear guilt and discomfort dancing behind their eyes.

 _"Well?"_ Jack thundered. "Come on, answer me! Corpses don't just get up and walk away!"

"The security feed was missing and damaged," Zeller spoke up. "In addition to shutting down the cameras, the perp wrecked them so that there was no possible way of acquiring the evidence."

Jack took in a deep, cleansing breath. "Do you know what this means?" Not wanting to aid in his rage with suggestions, the group shook their heads. "It _means_ that the Ripper could be stealing his victims to prevent us from getting answers!"

"Impossible," Beverly said. "They'd need security clearance."

"Then get me a list of everyone who was here that night." When the team didn't move fast enough for his liking, he gave a fiery, "NOW!" that sent them packing.

* * *

"What are you doing?" Bleary-eyed and hair mussed, Will tried to suppress a yawn as he entered the kitchen.

"Baking," Abigail told him as if it were obvious. "Your little science friends have sacrificed a lot to keep my secret, so I wanted to do something nice for them."

"Mini pies?"

"Is that a problem?"

Smiling, Will shook his head. "No, it's very thoughtful. I'm sure they'll love it."

"Are you hungover?"

"Hmm?"

"You look a little rough…and I mean that in the nicest of ways," Abigail teased. Placing a layer of dough over each small pie, she added, "If it makes you feel any better, I have a small headache."

"Why would that make me feel any better? It just proves I'm as much of a lightweight as an inexperienced teen."

"Oh, please." Abigail rolled her eyes with a smile. "Last night, I was merely faking it for your benefit. I've drank before…though I _am_ a lightweight, so I won't argue with you there."

"So all those questions you had were-?"

"Just to humor you, yes."

"Clever."

"Well, I certainly thought so," Abigail slyly agreed. "So where are you headed? Work? Therapy?"

Will sighed. "It's sad when those are my only two real options in life. Unfortunately, there's a shitstorm going down at the morgue since several bodies have been stolen. There's no sense in going to work since I can't speak to what isn't even there, so by default, it looks like I'll be going to therapy."

Abigail's brows rose high on her head. "Why would anyone want to steal a bunch of bodies? And how could they even pull that off?"

"Beats me. The security footage was damaged, so thus far, we're running on the assumption that the Ripper did it."

"Why, because…?" Abigail trailed off, her eyes wide. Grateful to the fact that her back was turned, she continued to busy herself with putting hash marks on her pie crusts.

"Why?" Will echoed, shrugging. "Well, if we don't have any evidence, we can't draw any conclusions."

Abigail's eyes remained dark. "And they have no idea who could've done it?"

"Not just yet. Beverly's going through the list of everyone who signed in last night."

Abigail's mouth twitched. "Alright, well…these pies are going to take an hour or so, so why don't you go ahead and see Dr. Lecter? I'll make you a quick breakfast if you want."

"No, thank you. I'll just grab a Pop Tart."

Sending him a withering look, Abigail chided, "What did I tell you about that?"

Will chuckled. "No 'crappy bachelor food,' I know, I know, but I think I'll worry about replacing groceries at another time." Plucking a Pop Tart from the pantry, he headed toward his room to get dressed.

Quickly, Abigail rushed over to the fridge and searched through Will's list of contacts. After finding who she needed, she added the number to her phone and returned to preparing her pies.

* * *

"Good afternoon, Will. Forgive me my absence."

Will rose from his seat in the waiting room, offering a small smile as Hannibal unlocked his office door. "It's alright," he assured him. "You're pretty punctual, so I figured it must've been important."

"Very," Hannibal agreed, "and quite unexpected, too. Otherwise, I would've called to let you know of the delay."

"Well, no harm done. I didn't have to go in to work today."

"Oh?"

"There was nobody to talk to, if you get my drift. All the bodies on the Ripper case were stolen."

"How dreadful," Hannibal lamented. "This is quite the inconceivable world we live in."

Will followed him into the office with a sigh. "I'll say. Though thank God for the bright spots here and there."

"Abigail Hobbs?"

Will smiled, nodding as he had a seat. "I surprised her with a little fake prom of sorts. I showed her how to dance – not that I'm an expert, mind you – and we watched movies 'til dawn."

Hannibal arched a brow. "However did you achieve that?"

"Achieve what?"

"Slow dancing… I was under the impression that you could not touch."

"We can't," Will agreed, "but there are ways around it. Clothing acts as a sufficient barrier, for one, and I also wore latex gloves. She's short enough that I didn't have to worry about her head touching my chin."

"Remarkable. And did it feel pleasant, being so close to holding what you otherwise could not?"

"Well, yes. Naturally."

"But it is quite _un_ natural."

"What are you trying to say?"

"Nothing, except that one day, the temptation to have what you cannot may become too great."

Will's eyes narrowed. "I would _never_ touch Abigail. Not unless…"

Hannibal shifted, now leaning in closer. "Not unless what?"

"Well…" Will sighed. "Now that I've gotten the chance to know her, I don't want to be selfish anymore. If Abigail wants to go, I…" He lowered his eyes and shrugged. "I won't stop her. I just want her to be happy."

"Does this mean you will be taking her out to other places? In public?"

"I'm still debating on that. Even though I want her to be happy, I still have to take her safety into consideration."

"And your own."

Will frowned. "I'm not the priority here."

"You are to me," Hannibal said. "As your doctor, I feel it my duty to protect your interests."

"Although I appreciate the sentiment, my feelings on the matter still stand. Abigail is more important."

"Perhaps, but if you become incapacitated, so will Abigail. She will become a human experiment."

The blood drained from Will's face and he lowered his eyes, nodding once. "You're right," he agreed, "it's just that…I want to give her as much of a normal life as I can."

"From the sound of things, you are doing rather well," Hannibal said. "Abigail sounds happy, and you only have a few trying concerns."

Will exhaled through his nose.

"You disagree?"

"Not entirely, no, but I still wish there was more that I could do."

"Perhaps there is. If you would bring Abigail by, the three of us could-"

"No." Shaking his head, Will declined, "I'm sorry, Doctor, but I don't want to expose her to any of this. And besides, the more I bring her out in public, the more likely she is to be seen."

Hannibal frowned. "Very well. How do you propose we address the problem?"

"For now, I think we should just stay on track with our daily session. If Abigail seems to be getting worse instead of better, _then_ I'll consider bringing her in."

"Fair enough. Were there other concerns you wished to discuss?"

Will smiled bitterly. "Abigail _is_ my primary concern. She's the only remnant left from that fateful day."

"Sometimes remnants are all that we have," Hannibal agreed. A shadowed sadness came over his eyes that Will failed to detect.

* * *

The front door clicked and Abigail perked up. "Oh good, just in time!" she called. "The pies have finally cooled down, so you can help me wrap them up." Beaming as she pulled the plastic wrap from the pantry, she added, "Did any of those bodies ever turn up?"

Shrugging out of his coat, Will shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. We've had to call in additional forces to aid in the search."

"I'm sure they'll turn up eventually."

"Let's hope so," Will agreed. "This is one of the few cases we've been forced to do the old-fashioned way." Peering over her shoulder, he asked, "Are those peach?"

"Yes, and you can't have any." Laughing at the dismayed look on his face, she pointed toward the oven. "Don't worry, I'm making a big one for the two of us."

"That's more like it." Watching Abigail as she bustled around the kitchen, Will's smile faded and he looked away with a sigh. "Abigail, I've been thinking…"

She paused, now glancing up with a quirked brow.

"You asked about my past the other day, so I think it's only fair that I finally open up. Because you're right…I _do_ know a lot about you, while you know next to nothing about me." He smiled sadly. "It's just that I'm used to hiding behind walls. I've never had a friend – a _real_ friend – to share anything with before. Not until you."

For once in her life, Abigail felt completely unsure of what to say. But rather than cajole him with sweet assurances, she said, "Thank you…you can start wherever you'd like."

He nodded, lowering his gaze toward the floor. "Well, like I'd mentioned before, I was about six when all of this started happening. I was young, confused, and quite frankly, downright terrified. I looked to my parents for support, but found next to none. My dad wasn't unkind, but my mom…well…" He released a shaking breath. "One night, I remember hearing the front door open, so I crept downstairs to find out what was going on. It was my mom…her bags were packed, and her only remaining dog was under her arm."

Will's eyes stung and he looked away, miserably rubbing at his whiskered cheek. Even after all these years, he could still see everything so clearly – could still hear the disdain in her voice as she announced her departure.

"She said she was going away for a while," Will mumbled. "I asked if I could come with her, but she told me 'my kind' wasn't welcome in the world, so I agreed to stay put and not tell my dad. She swore she would come back for me when society grew more accepting."

Abigail winced. Tearing off a piece of plastic wrap, she tried her best to imagine how that might've been – how that might've _felt_ – and unbidden, a dull ache flared up within her breast. "She never came back for you, did she?"

Will shook his head. There was a bitter smile on his face, which Abigail assumed was there to distract from the tears in his eyes. "No," he hoarsely said, "but she did send a letter to my father. I wasn't supposed to know, but I found it one day while cleaning the cabin. She'd told him she didn't want to be associated with a freak…that she _refused_ to raise a monster." Will gripped at the counter. "Mothers are supposed to love their children no matter what, but mine hated me. She threatened to turn me in to the authorities unless we paid her off. To this day, I _still_ write her checks."

The ache in Abigail's chest intensified. "Why?" she asked. _"Why_ would you do that to yourself? Surely there's another way…"

"I don't know," Will admitted, "but I don't want to take the chance. And besides…" He lowered his gaze. "A part of me believes she's the only woman who will ever love me."

Overcome by empathy – she, too, had felt lonely and abandoned – Abigail took the plastic wrap between her hands and draped it over Will's face, her lips pressing into his through the flimsy, crinkling barrier. Will jerked, startled, while she struggled to maintain the proper distance between them. Through the plastic, Will could feel the warmth of her mouth, and was suddenly overcome by the urge to cup her face – to stroke her cheeks, card his fingers through her hair, and tilt her head back to better taste her kiss with his tongue.

It had never occurred to Will until now that he may desire Abigail – that he may yearn for her beyond their bond of friendship and understanding. He knew he should feel perverse standing there, stunned and unmoving while her lips danced beneath his through the plastic wrap, but he didn't. He felt elated… _wanted,_ and perhaps even a little loved.

Finally, Abigail lowered back down to her rightful height and turned away, resuming her task as if nothing out of the ordinary had just occurred.

"You're better off."

"Huh?"

"I know it doesn't help, but you're better off without her," Abigail said. "You have a good heart, Will. You've never once been unkind to me."

"Well…"

"A man in your position could've easily gone off the deep end, but you chose a path of goodness. I wish my dad had done the same." Eyes dark and introspective, Abigail finished wrapping the pies and tucked them into a large paper bag. "My point is, even though your mom is a first class piece of shit, you've at the very least stuck to your principles. I hope I can learn from that."

Yet again, Will found himself yearning to touch her – to press his hand into the small of her back and nuzzle into her hair. "You're a far cry from your father," he gently assured her.

Abigail ignored his declaration, her eyes downcast as she moved to put the pies in the fridge. "I'm going to bed now," she informed him. "Thank you for telling me the truth."

Will nodded, trying not to express his hurt toward her sudden closed off attitude. Had he done something wrong?

"Goodnight, Abigail."

"Goodnight." Offering a feeble smile, she turned and headed off toward her room for more privacy.

* * *

Abigail waited a good four hours until she pulled out her phone. She wanted to make sure Will was asleep (and possibly also Hannibal) before speaking her mind.

With the number dialed, Abigail placed the phone to her ear and waited.

_Hello, you have reached the home of Dr. Hannibal Lecter. I am not in at the moment, so please leave your name and number, and I shall do my best to get back to you in a timely fashion. Do take care._

The awaited beep came, then Abigail hissed out a raspy, "I know who you are…I know what you've done." Heart pounding and hands shaking, she lowered her voice and said, "Weird things didn't start happening until you took on Will as a patient. You have access to his medical records, and now the FBI, by proxy, so you easily could've been let into the morgue without being questioned. You did it, and if you don't come forward, I'll-"

_"Abigail?"_

She froze, mouth falling open before she promptly hung up and tossed her phone. He'd heard…oh God, he _knew._


	9. Deal with the Devil

"Good morning, Abigail – were you out here all night?" Frowning as he observed her pale, drawn face and curled up body, Will noted how she was still in her nightgown. At this time of day, she was typically in a springy dress or jumper.

Abigail shrugged and kept her gaze focused straight ahead.

All at once, Will was overcome by guilt. Had their kiss (if it could truly even be classified as a kiss), affected her this badly? While Abigail had been in agony, Will had gone to bed warm, content, and able to sleep well for the first time in years.

"Do you need me to get you anything?" he asked. "Maybe a glass of water?"

Abigail nodded, but still she said nothing.

After Will had fetched the requested drink, he returned and knelt down in front of her. "Abigail, honey," he cajoled, "I'm going to need you to take this. I can't touch you, remember?"

Blankly, Abigail looked up at him – almost _through_ him – before accepting the water with trembling fingers. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Abby, what's the matter?"

"Nothing, I just…I don't feel very well."

"Is it your stomach?"

She nodded.

"I'll go get you some ginger ale and crackers."

Not bothering to argue with him, Abigail released a breath and closed her eyes. After fussing around in the kitchen, Will returned to her and she looked up again. "Maybe you shouldn't go back to therapy."

"What?"

"With Dr. Lecter…maybe you shouldn't go back."

Perplexed by the subject change, Will set her crackers and drink onto the coffee table before having a seat. "My attending therapy was _your_ suggestion, if you'll recall."

"Well yes, but-"

"And I'm grateful to it. I think I've been making some real progress."

"You do?"

Will nodded, and Abigail's eyes stung with regret. How could she possibly tell him to stop now that he finally had a proper outlet? She hadn't been distressed all night for the reason he assumed, but rather because she cared for him and didn't know how to help. Hannibal clearly had nefarious reasons for wanting to see him, and she couldn't figure out what they were. Perhaps he'd just needed an inside source to get access to the morgue?

"I'm sorry," Abigail apologized. "You should do whatever you want, of course, but…you could always talk to me instead? I mean, if you wanted?"

Will smiled weakly. "Last night's emotional word vomit wasn't enough?"

Abigail mirrored his sad smile. "It wasn't a bother, if that's what you mean. It was nice to know you're just like everyone else."

He huffed. "Well, I'd hardly say that…"

"Okay, fine – it was nice to know you're a lot like _me,"_ Abigail corrected. "My parents were present while I was growing up, but I still felt lonely and abandoned…especially by my mom."

Will winced. "I suppose there's no real guarantee with parents. I'm sorry that I never asked."

"I never wanted to talk about it," Abigail assured him, "so there's no way you could've known. I'm just trying to say that I kind of understand what you went through, and that you don't need to vent to some stranger. Especially if that's all you're getting out of this."

Will yearned to brush the hair back from her eyes, but instead he sat on his hands and nodded. "I'll think it over," he agreed.

Abigail gave him a feeble smile. His consideration was certainly better than nothing.

* * *

"You seem preoccupied. Has there been a break in your case?"

Will turned away from the large, curtained window, rubbing at the back of his neck as he shook his head. "Even if there were, you know I wouldn't be at liberty to discuss it," he mumbled. "It's just…things have changed with Abigail."

"In what way?"

Moving toward his chair, Will exhaled before having a seat. "Last night, she kissed me."

Hannibal appeared perplexed. "And yet she still lives?"

"Oh…well, she did this little maneuver with plastic wrap, so long story short, yes, she's still alive."

"And the kiss troubled you?"

"No…and that's what I find troubling. For the first time in my life, I feel cared for and accepted. She's 16 years my junior, but…I don't know, Dr. Lecter, she just seems wise beyond her years. I know I can't be with her, but I _want_ to be."

Hannibal canted his head. "And why do you think she kissed you?"

"I'm not really sure…sympathy, maybe? Our conversation last night got pretty involved."

"So there's no possibility of manipulation?"

Will frowned, though there was an evident crack in his composure. "I don't believe so," he said, "but that naturally doesn't mean you're wrong."

"Has she asked anything of you lately?"

"Nothing other than the usual…and to be honest, I'm leaning toward granting her request."

"Because of her kiss?"

"Well…"

"That suggests that if the act was, indeed that of manipulation, her tactics are working."

Will swallowed low in his throat. "She also suggested I stop seeing you."

"Probably to prevent me from giving analyses such as these," Hannibal said. "You mustn't be so hasty with her, Will. Think things over before bringing Abigail out into the world."

"But you don't think it could be beneficial? I'd take her camping in the mountains, or to Lake Erie…somewhere relatively out of the way, but still public enough that she doesn't feel trapped."

"I do not deny the benefits," Hannibal said, "but my concern still stands. If she gets what she wants and begins to grow distant again, you will have your answer."

"I also want to start looking for a cure…" Eyes downcast, Will absently picked at a stray string on his pant leg. "Once I found out what the caveats were, I never tested beyond them out of fear. There may be a limitation to how long Abigail remains untouchable. And if so, I want to find out."

"And how do you hope to achieve such a feat?"

"With bugs. I first found my limits with them as a kid, so I'll buy some dead ones, bring them back, and then assign each one a timeframe to test. This may take years, but I'm determined. I want to be able to touch Abigail without fear…without _barriers._ I enjoy feeling her warmth through my gloves, but it's not enough."

"Even if she's manipulating you?"

"Even then." Looking down at his buzzing phone, Will realized he was getting a text before checking the screen. "That's Jack," he said. "I'm needed in at the office…same time tomorrow?"

"But of course. I do hope Jack has good news." Following after Will with his eyes, Hannibal tensed his hands in his lap and frowned deeply. Something would need to be done about Abigail Hobbs.

* * *

"Who's this?"

"Harold Fletcher," Jack said, folding his arms as he looked down at the body. "Our 'corpse napper' somehow missed this one. I'm hoping that if you speak with him directly, we can determine who did this once and for all."

Will nodded. "Is the security feed stalled?"

"About five minutes ago, yes. You're safe to start."

Will nodded again. Now setting his watch, he leaned over and tapped the victim.

Harold lurched up, startled, before blinking up at Will and Jack in alarm. "W-where…?"

"Hello, Mr. Fletcher, I'm Special Agent Will Graham. If you could just answer a few questions, we can-"

"Where are we? Am I…am I _dead?"_

Will nodded. "Unfortunately, yes, but you can help us bring justice to yourself and the other victims. Can you identify your killer?"

Harold shook his head. "No sir, I can't. It was dark out, for one, and two, the man grabbed me from behind."

"And you didn't see anything at all? Any defining scars, tattoos, or possibly even clothing?"

"He seemed pretty well-dressed, judging by his sleeves, but I'm afraid I wasn't too concerned about what he was wearing, as I'm sure you can well imagine."

"Thank you, Mr. Fletcher. I promise that we'll find the man who did this to you." Tapping Harold on the forehead, Will stepped back as the victim collapsed against the slab.

"Well, so much for that," Jack groused. "I can't believe he didn't see a damn thing."

"Most victims are too frazzled to properly concentrate," Will reminded him. "We're lucky that Fletcher was in tune at all."

"Being 'well-dressed' isn't much of an in tune statement," Jack grumbled. "We can't send out an APB on non-descript clothing."

"Still, it's a start."

"I suppose. Go and join the others to discuss your next move."

* * *

"Abigail." Hannibal stepped back, opening his office door to better accommodate her. "Won't you come in?"

Looking up at him with a stern sense of contempt, Abigail clutched tightly at her coat and stepped around him. "Don't be polite with me," she warned. "You know why I'm here."

"Indeed, I do. Will Graham is a concern for the both of us."

"Why?" she asked. "Before you even knew what Will was, you wanted me to get him to come see you. Did you actually already know the truth?"

"I will not deny that a member of the science team accidentally let something slip, but their error did not reveal the full truth, no. They'd said Will had capabilities that made it seem as if he could speak with the dead. I suppose they merely needed an outlet, and chose to speak in half-truths to do so."

Abigail frowned. "Okay, but that still doesn't explain what you want with Will."

"I do not intend to share doctor-patient information with an outside party."

"How is that protected under doctor-patient confidentiality? He wouldn't even _be_ your patient if it weren't for me!"

Hannibal's gaze darkened. "Abigail, I am aware of your attempts to sabotage our daily sessions, and I can assure you, if you dissuade Will from returning, I will have no choice but to expose the world to what you and Will truly are."

Abigail balked. "You can't… Please, Will's been through enough!"

"Oh? In what w-?"

"I'm not telling you shit," she seethed. "If you can have doctor-patient confidentiality, then I can have a secret pact of my own! Will told me things in confidence – things he clearly didn't want _you_ to know – so I'm not going to say a word. Least especially to a _murderer."_

Hannibal gripped at the chair beside him. "And how can you be so certain of that?"

"I wasn't at first," Abigail admitted, "but your eagerness to meet with me cemented everything. You have the means and the power, and no one, not even Will, would think twice about suspecting you."

A tight smile tugged at Hannibal's lips. "Clever girl," he conceded. "Why have you not yet told Will?"

"Because I needed proof first. I knew it'd be hard to convince him of your guilt, so I wanted to be certain without a shadow of a doubt."

"A grave mistake on your part," he said. "Now that you've waited, I cannot allow you to tell Will – not unless you wish him to be sent off to a laboratory to be dissected?"

Tears pricked at Abigail's eyes. "You wouldn't do that…you clearly want to study him yourself."

"Do I? Seeing how you haven't yet discerned my motive, it would be most unwise to test that theory. If I don't see Will in my office tomorrow morning, you will reap the consequences."

Abigail's chin quivered. "Please don't hurt him…"

"I do not intend to harm someone of Will's immense talent and intellect. No, I merely intend to utilize." He motioned toward the door. "You may go now. But please take heed of what I said."

Nodding, Abigail turned and headed out into the hallway, her chest aching over the thought of what she must now do.


	10. Group Therapy

"I'm coming with you."

Will's hand faltered on the doorknob, his brow creasing as he turned and looked Abigail over. "How come? Yesterday, you seemed pretty against me ever going back to therapy."

"I am," she agreed, "but I also don't want to take away what seems to be helping. At the very least, I figured I could be supportive and join you." She shrugged, now tying a scarf around her neck. "Who knows? Maybe therapy will help me, too."

"Alright." Watching her with a fondness he tried to mask (and ultimately failed), Will held the door open for Abigail and led her out toward the car. "I'll admit I never wanted you to come along, but only because I thought therapy might reopen some old wounds."

"Is that what it's done for you?"

"A little," Will admitted. "I've talked about my mom, but not nearly to the lengths I have with you. I just…never felt up to it, I guess."

"And you shouldn't have to," Abigail said. "If you're not ready, you're not ready."

Sliding into the car, she buckled her seatbelt before looking up at him sadly. There was so much she wanted to tell him – so much she wanted to _confess_ – but instead, all she did was touch her gloved hand over his and offer a soft smile.

Will's eyes lit up, and he fondly placed his hand over hers, squeezing her fingers as he returned her smile. Sometimes it hurt to care as much as he did for Abigail Hobbs.

* * *

When Will and Abigail entered Hannibal's office, the latter appeared somewhat surprised to see them.

"I finally heeded your advice," Will said. "Abigail's agreed to sit in on this session, so now we can get everything out in the open."

"Splendid." Hannibal shot Abigail a displeased little glance. "How do you wish to proceed? Should we start with how Abigail is feeling, and how her lifestyle is affecting her mood and personality?"

Will nodded and moved toward his seat. "That sounds fair. Did you want to start us off, Abigail?"

She glowered at Hannibal before having a seat of her own. "I'm much better than I was before," she said, "and I've more or less accepted that I can't revisit my old life. Not unless I want to endanger Will and myself."

"Or perhaps it is just Will who is in danger."

Her brow creased. "How do you mean?"

"Will is the 'creator,' so it speak, and you are the product. Most scholars would not be nearly as interested in you."

Abigail looked to Will in surprise, who currently seemed just as startled. Was Hannibal intentionally trying to inflict dissent?

"I…admit I might have enacted that rule for selfish reasons," Will slowly said, "but I wanted to keep Abigail safe. A part of me also wanted to keep her to myself, but…well…" He released a breath. "I know now that I can't and _shouldn't_ control her, so I'm not going to try. If she wants to go someplace, I'll schedule the trip."

Abigail remained in a state of shock before blinking slowly. "You mean, we can go away somewhere?"

Will nodded. "Anywhere you want."

Her lips lifted into a bright, effulgent smile, and she hugged herself fiercely about the middle. Hannibal watched on in displeasure as Will mirrored her self-embrace with one of his own.

"If I could kiss you," she said, "and I mean _really_ kiss you, I would. I want to go to so many places…places I've only read and dreamed about."

Will held himself a bit tighter. "If it's an extensive list, I'll try and carve out a vacation for the next three months. The Bureau owes me far more than that."

"Isn't this a bit hasty?" Hannibal spoke up. "While I can understand wishing to gallivant, while you do so, a killer will still be on the loose. Can you truly live with the spilt blood of the innocent?"

Will's smile slowly faded. "I…"

"It's okay, Will." Abigail looked pointedly to Hannibal. "We can go away for a couple weeks at a time, then come back every third week. That way you won't be missing too much."

Will nodded, considering this. "I think Jack would agree to that."

"I really must protest," Hannibal said. "You both are still in the fledgling state of your relationship. As new and exciting as this unexplored territory may be, the built-in resentment from your earlier days is sure to come to a fore."

Abigail shook her head. "I _was_ resentful," she agreed, "but once I realized who my parents really were, I understood that Will saved me and was just doing his job. I can't hate him for wanting to help, Dr. Lecter." Looking over to Will, she flashed him a warm smile. "I owe him my life – both of them."

Hannibal frowned. "And what is your goal for this vacation, Abigail?"

"To explore the world," she said. "In my past life, I lived like a sheltered, caged little bird. Now that Will's given me the chance to start over, I want to see as much of this life as I can."

"And you believe you are not caged in this life?"

"Well… I know I am, to an extent," Abigail agreed, "but I trust Will enough to know that that will soon change."

Will nodded encouragingly. "Of course it will," he promised. "I'll do everything I can – anything at all."

Hannibal tensed his hands in his lap. Astonishingly, it would seem that his group therapy idea had turned against him. With Abigail present, Will was less suggestible to his manipulation.

"Perhaps I should take a moment to speak with you individually," Hannibal suggested. "When we all reconvene, we can share our closing statements."

"Sure," Will agreed, "I'll go first."

"Very well."

Rising from her seat, Abigail touched her gloved hand to Will's shoulder and said, "I'll be in the waiting room."

He smiled warmly, and continued to do so long after she'd left the room. When he looked back at Hannibal, he was startled by the grim displeasure gazing back at him. "You disapprove."

"Not entirely," Hannibal assured him. "You are in a delicate situation and are in need of commiseration with someone who understands. However, with that territory there comes a level of responsibility that you must take. And drawing too close to the edge could prove disastrous."

Will's brow pinched. "The edge?"

"She cannot be touched," Hannibal reminded him. "If you were to accidentally touch her – to stumble into her or brush arms while walking past – you would never forgive yourself. And then where would you be?"

Will swallowed. "What are you suggesting?"

"For you to proceed with caution," Hannibal said. "Going away together would make you relaxed and potentially _too comfortable,_ which would then give way to accidents."

"But what if I wore a bell or something? That way-"

"A bell cannot prevent you from falling, Will. It is best to maintain your distance. Especially since I take it that your experiments are still unsuccessful?"

Will nodded bleakly. "The bugs are still dying," he mumbled. "Naturally, the experiment will take a bit of time, but…you're right. Being alone with Abigail for that long could be risky."

"Not if I'm covered head to toe."

Both men looked up, startled to find Abigail in the doorway.

"Miss Hobbs," Hannibal admonished, "if you could please-"

 _"Stop_ enabling his need to protect and nurture me," she snapped. "I'm not 12 years old, Dr. Lecter, and if I want to risk my life – a life I wouldn't even normally _have_ – that's my prerogative." She stepped more fully into the room, her expression tight and pinched. "Long sleeves, gloves, jeans, socks, and my scarf should do the trick as a safety precaution. And if Will touches my head? Well…" She shrugged, appearing ambivalent. "At least I'll have lived my last moments with someone I care about. How many others can say the same?"

Hannibal felt his temper flare. "But Abigail-"

"Come on, Will. I want to go out to dinner." With an over the top display of affection, Abigail gave a kiss to her gloved palm, then placed it over his mouth. "Please?"

Sparing Hannibal an apologetic glance, Will rose from his seat and began threading his arms through his coat. "I'm sorry, Dr. Lecter, but we really should get going," he said. "Abigail and I have a lot of packing to do for our trip."

Beaming, Abigail safely threaded her arm through his, and the couple left behind a seething doctor in their wake.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW, I didn't mean to fall behind on this so much, but life got hectic and I also lost inspiration. I've been working on other fics, as well as trying to get my original work published. It's tough, needless to say. Anyway, I'll probably do a time skip of about 6 months for the next chapter. Not only to show the progression of Will and Abigail's closeness, but because if I kept at this day-by-day pace, Will's experiments would never amount to anything. I might even do longer than 6 months. We'll just have to see. :)


	11. New Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sexual content warning.

"It's only day three of being a 'salty dog,' and I'm already having cabin fever." With a wry smile, Abigail applied suntan lotion to her skin as Will cut the engine to his boat. "When are we heading back to land?"

"Do you really hate it that much?"

"Of course not. You're the one person I'd want to be stranded with, so I guess this is a best case scenario." She grinned as he approached her. "If you could do my back, I'd ask you to."

"I could get some gloves?"

"Don't be silly. I'll make do," Abigail assured him. After awkwardly applying the sunscreen to her back and shoulders, she slipped into a life vest and approached the edge of the boat. "Last one in's a rotten corpse!"

Will winced, though he was chuckling. "I think I much prefer the traditional saying, if you don't mind."

"You're no fun." With a flippant wave of her hand, Abigail turned and dove into the ocean.

Will followed soon after, causing a roll of water to come crashing down over Abigail's head.

"No, no, _wait!"_ Shielding her face, Abigail shrieked as Will splashed another wave of seawater onto her shoulders. "If I could touch you, you'd be in big trouble right now!"

Laughing, Will evaded the watery swipe of her own and reclined to float on his back. He'd always felt more at peace out on the water than anywhere else. As a boy, his father had taken him on their boat quite often, so that was why he was now doing the same for Abigail. They were stationed out in the middle of the ocean, and since the waves were calm, they were able to swim freely without much danger. Nevertheless, Will had forced Abigail to wear a life vest. If something were to happen, he wouldn't be able to rescue her.

"I think I'm ready to go back up now," Abigail announced. Teeth chattering, she grabbed the edge of the boat before seizing the ladder, her slender limbs shivering as she scaled her way up onto the deck.

Will huffed. "Are you serious? You just got in!" Amused, he crawled up after her before swiping a towel off a nearby seat.

Abigail was already sprawled out along her own towel, and she lifted her eyes long enough to glare at him. "I was already cold-natured before I died, but maybe I'm more susceptible to the chill than you are."

"I suppose I could add that to my list of studies."

Folding her arms behind her head, Abigail looked up at the sunny sky with a soft exhale. "It's been eight months, Will. Do you really think there's a cure?"

"There has to be," he said. "Like I told you earlier, the bugs are starting to take longer to die. Normally, they would die on contact. That has to mean something."

"Maybe…" Watching Will sink down alongside her (but at a careful distance), Abigail frowned while he dried himself off. "Will?"

"Hm?"

"I don't want to wait anymore."

"For what?"

"For us to touch… I don't want to wait. I want you to be my first, my last, my everything."

A sliver of panic lanced through Will like dry ice. "What are you saying?"

"I wanna… _y'know…_ be intimate with you."

"We _can't._ Not unless-"

"Not in the traditional way," she agreed, "but what if you were fully clothed and wore a condom?"

Will rubbed at his face. "Jesus, Abigail…"

"C'mon, you can't tell me you haven't thought of it, too – I thought you were going to have an aneurysm when you accidentally walked in on me naked."

Will flushed. "Well…of _course_ I've entertained the idea, but it's too risky. What if the condom breaks? What if-?"

"What if I never get to touch you?" she challenged. "I could have another guy if I wanted to, but I _don't,_ Will – I want you. Please don't deny me that."

Now it was Will's turn to shiver. He laid down alongside her and squinted up at the sun, closing his eyes as he shook his head. "You really don't want to wait? You want your first time to be on my boat?"

"Well, why not? As long as it's with you, I don't care where we are."

Will looked over at her then, a small smile flitting across his lips. "You sure know how to make this difficult, don't you?"

She grinned. "I'm counting on it."

* * *

"What's all this?"

"Dinner, of course. Did you really think I wouldn't feed you?"

Abigail's expression grew mischievous. "Why? Do I need to garner up my strength for all the sex we'll be having?"

Will didn't think it possible, but he managed to choke on the very air he was breathing.

With a vibrant laugh, Abigail hoisted herself up onto a stool and reached for her glass of water. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For this…all of it. I really appreciate you taking me out here. After spreading my mom's ashes last week, I finally feel at peace. I didn't realize I was incomplete until that moment and, as usual, I have you to thank for that."

Will moved back toward the stove with a sigh. "You don't owe me anything, Abigail. As long as you're happy, _I'm_ happy."

"I actually believe you," she murmured. "You're the most selfless person I've ever met… It's kind of gross, actually."

He laughed and flipped the fish in the frying pan. "Don't worry, I'm sure that sooner or later, I'll screw it up. I've been told I have the charm of a cactus."

"Yeah, by people who don't know you," Abigail countered. "Your charm is at _least_ that of an eel."

With a grin, Will came over to the table with two plates of fish. "It's good to know that I rank so highly on the 'national prick scale.'"

"Well, you went up two points when you took me bowling last week."

"So easy to please."

With a gentle look, Abigail reached across the table and took his gloved hand in hers. She often liked to touch him these days. "You've been real good to me these past several months – taking me on trips, showing me the world – if I'm happy and 'easy to please,' it's all because of you."

Suddenly unable to stand her eyes on him, Will lowered his gaze and fondly squeezed her hand. "I'd do anything for you. Well…within reason, of course."

Abigail laughed. "So no ginormous shopping trips?" Eyes twinkling, she thought of all the places they'd been – apple picking in a Virginian orchard, sailing at Lake Erie, scattering her mother's ashes on Eagle Mountain – and it excited her to know that there was still more to come. Will had assured her that they'd travel for as long as she'd have him. "What do you think of going on a date? Like…a real one?"

Will cut into his fish with one hand, then lightly squeezed her fingers with the other. "So you want me to make love to you and _then_ try out a date? It's a little backwards, but I can be progressive whenever the situation calls for it."

"I'm serious."

Lifting his eyes from his plate, Will moved his other hand over hers and squeezed their interlocked fingers. "I would love to," he softly said. "I'll take you anywhere you want to go."

"I'd like to go dancing...'cause we danced together before I realized I liked you, and now that I know I _do_ like you, it should be far more enjoyable."

"Less toe-stomping too, hopefully," Will teased. He smiled pleasantly. "I know just the place. There's a venue for ballroom dancing that hosts monthly dances. I could take you there when we get back?"

Abigail beamed. "Yes, and I could wear my fake prom dress, and then maybe we could come home and...be intimate by the fire." Her cheeks flushed crimson. "I don't think I can eat another bite, Will… I just want you to touch me."

He visibly swallowed. "W-well…"

"I wish I could kiss you," Abigail whispered. "And as I'd put my fingers in your hair, I'd slip my tongue into your mouth."

Despite the fact he was already flustered, a rosy shade of pink stained Will's cheeks and neck as he released his fork with a loud, jarring clang. "Abigail, I-"

"Do it, Will," she pleaded. "Come over here and touch me."

Trembling, he watched her lift her shirt up and over her head, baring her shivering midriff and braless breasts as she eyed him pleadingly. She pinched a hardened nipple and he throbbed beneath his zipper. "Abigail…"

 _"Please,"_ she begged again, now rising from her seat. "Lately, it's all I can think about…"

Mouth dry, Will mirrored her stance and approached her with baited breath, his arousal straining his pants as she slipped out of her shorts and panties.

With shaking limbs, Abigail took his clothed wrists before placing his hands on her breasts. Her breath hitched and she arched up into his gloved palms, her mouth going slack as a tiny noise escaped her.

Will swallowed. "A-are you…?"

"Keep going," she pleaded. With her breath on his face, it gave off the illusion that they were touching – that they were _close_ – and Will rolled his thumbs over her nipples as she reached down and squeezed him through his pants. Will bit his tongue to keep from crying out.

"Do you have a condom?"

Will nodded, barely able to breathe as his latex touch skimmed along her every curve and contour. Dipping a hand between her legs, he pressed upward and was rewarded by the soft, kittenish mewl that caught in Abigail's throat. He probed at her warm, tight space, and she pulsed around his fingers, her knees quivering as her wetness coated his glove. He could feel Abigail's warmth – _sense_ it – but the weak substitute wasn't nearly enough.

"I need it," Abigail pleaded, her legs nearly buckling as his thumb grazed her clit. "Please, Will…please, please, _please."_

Trembling, Will nodded and took her by the hands, wordlessly cajoling her into following him out onto the deck. He didn't want her first time to be in a cramped, tiny cabin that smelled like fried fish. "I'll lie down," he whispered, "and then you can sit in my lap and ride me."

Breathless with excitement, Abigail nodded and watched him lower himself onto the deck flooring, the warm, salty breeze enveloping them as the moon shone down amidst a sea of glittering stars.

After rolling a condom over his bared, straining arousal, Will ensured that every last bit of himself (save for his neck and face) was covered by clothing and latex. When he was satisfied with his perusal, he held out a gloved hand for Abigail to take. "C'mere," he whispered. She looked back at him with wide, helpless eyes, then took hold of his fingers before easing herself down into his lap. The rigid length of him between her thighs made her gasp.

"Don't worry," he gently assured her, "this is _your_ pace."

With a tentative nod, Abigail splayed her quivering fingers across his clothed chest, greedily taking in the sensation of his warmth beneath her traveling fingers. The urge to dip beneath the fabric – to slip down and feel _skin_ on _her_ skin – was great, yet instead, she gripped at his shirt and settled his cock between her open thighs, her mouth going slack as she slowly, carefully began to feed him into her throbbing heat. _"Oh…"_

Will's head snapped back and he clawed at the air, gasping shallowly before gripping at her arcing waist.

"Is this right?" Abigail asked, sighing as she slid all the way down to the hilt. With his arousal now coerced deep inside her, Will could barely speak as he nodded weakly. Pleased by his response, she slowly began to move, her hips rolling into his as she rose and fell against him.

With his head spinning, Will skimmed his gloved palms along her shivering nudity, now entranced by her heaving breasts and tiny gasps. "That's it," he encouraged, "I've got you, sweetheart."

Skin flushed and eyes bright, Abigail shuddered as she began to bounce more forcibly in his lap. Every time she'd come down, he jerked his hips in offering, each thrust grazing her clit and sending sparks of pleasure throughout her limbs. Tossing her head back, Abigail breathed shallowly as Will gripped at her waist and _rocked_ her, forcing her hips to push and grind into his cock as the stars blurred in a bright, glowing mass over their heads.

"Will," she gasped out, "Will, I...I'm going to..." Unable to finish, Abigail gave a sharp, keening cry as she convulsed wetly around his jerking arousal. He throbbed between her walls and she whimpered, falling forward before fumblingly catching her weight against his shoulders. With her mouth hovering over his, she could taste his breath – taste _him_ – and the desire to close the distance between them was so strong that she nearly succumbed. Instead, Abigail weakly disengaged herself from Will's lap with a shallow, shuddering breath. The warm spot between her thighs ached, but otherwise, she felt sated and full.

"I love you." The words tumbled past Will's lips before he could stop them, and momentarily, he appeared winded by the confession. There was no way she could want him back – no way she could _love_ him the way he loved her – and yet he knew he'd meant every word. In spite of his crippling fear of emotional attachment, he'd let down his walls for this girl, and would continue to do so for as long as she'd have him.

Breathless and shaking, Will touched a gloved hand to Abigail's face and stroked his thumb down along her cheek. "I love you," he said again, though much more firmly this time.

With tears in her eyes, Abigail curled her hand around his latex fingers and kissed his palm. She'd never been terribly good with sentiment, but she hoped she could convey to him what words otherwise could not. Her father had often discouraged emotion (or at least, emotion outside of their _own_ relationship), so she found herself unable to speak the words she inevitably wanted to say.

Seeming to read her mind, Will softly assured her, "You don't have to say anything, Abigail. Just know that I'll be here for as long as you need me."

"Then...you'll always be in my life?"

Despite not believing in promises, Will gave a tearful smile and curved his hand against her cheek. "Always."

Sparing him a fond smile of her own, Abigail nuzzled into his palm before curling in against his clothed chest. With the strong beat of his heart against her cheek, she slowly fell into a deep and contented sleep.

* * *

The ringing of Will's cell phone was what roused him from his slumber. With his eyes fluttering open, he grimaced as he squinted up toward the slowly rising sun. It was dawn.

A bit embarrassed in the morning light, Will tucked himself back into his pants and carefully disentangled himself from Abigail's arms. In retrospect, it had been highly reckless to sleep together (they could've accidentally touched during the night), but he wouldn't have traded their evening of intimacy for anything in the world.

After realizing that the caller was Jack, he sighed before pressing the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Will, how soon can you get back to Quantico?"

Perplexed, he slowly sat up and rubbed his face. "Jack, it's after five in the morning…"

"Can you get here or not? We've got a new body, and we believe he's a victim of the Ripper's. I need you to talk to him."

Will suddenly felt wide awake. "I'm out in the middle of the ocean, but if I head back now, I should be able to get there some time this evening."

"Perfect. Call me as soon as you arrive."

"Will do." As he hung up, Abigail sleepily rose from her spot on the deck.

"Who was that?"

"Work," Will said. "We have to go back now."

"Why, what's happened?"

"A new body was found by who Jack believes to be the Ripper. He wants me to speak with him."

Abigail chewed her lip, now feeling her heart give a hopeful warble. If Hannibal was caught, then perhaps that meant she and Will could finally be free. With a nod, she urged, "Then let's go. I don't want to keep you from doing your job."

Gently squeezing her hand, Will doffed his coat for her to wear, then headed over to start up the engine.

* * *

"Do we have a name?"

"The victim's a Mr. Chase Brumfeld. He's 42, a stockbroker, and a family man – or so they say."

Nodding, Will asked, "Anything else I should know before I begin?"

"Not really. Jack's hoping you'll fill in the blanks," Beverly said. "I'm going to head out so you can do your magic."

Nodding as he set up his timer, Will gave one final glance at Beverly's departing form before tapping Brumfeld's head. He shot up with a gasp of breath.

"No, no, no, _please!"_ he cried.

"Mr. Brumfeld, I'm Special Agent Will Graham, and I'm here to help you," Will quickly intervened. "We just have a moment to spare, so if you could please just-"

"You get that sick son of a bitch who did this to me!" Brumfeld snarled. Fiercely, he jerked a finger toward his eviscerated midsection.

"Do you know who did this to you?" Will asked.

"Oh, I'll say!" Brumfeld exclaimed. "My doctor, that's who!"

"Doctor…?"

"Lecter! Hannibal Lecter!"

All at once, it felt as if the very air had been stripped from his lungs. No… _that couldn't be._

"Are you sure?"

"Positive! That sick fuck invited me over for a brandy, and then after lecturing me on how 'rude' I am, or some shit, he did _this_ to me!" Again, Brumfeld pointed toward his middle. He suddenly appeared bemused. "Am I... _dead?"_

With an uneven exhale, Will tapped the man's forehead and rendered him deceased once more.

Beverly re-emerged a moment later. "Find anything?"

Pale and ashen, Will shook his head and rubbed the back of his neck. "No, uh…nothing."

 _"Nothing?_ Seriously?"

Will nodded, but this time couldn't look her in the eye. He threaded his arms through his coat and muttered, "I just remembered something I have to take care of in town. Let Jack know that I'll confer with him in the morning."

Beverly frowned. "Alright, champ, I'll see you then."

Will barreled out the door without so much as a goodbye. In that moment, he was far too preoccupied with a much more pressing issue…

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELP, I (clearly) lost inspiration again, I'm sorry! I was only reminded of this fic when I got a lovely review about a week ago, so it encouraged me to start up again. And I know Hannibal might seem careless here, but perhaps he did it on purpose. ;)


	12. An Impossible Request

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation(s) for this chapter:
> 
> mažai gėlių: little flower

"Ah, Will. So good of you to come."

"You were expecting me?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. You have been quite difficult to reach these past several months."

Will's lips pulled back into a sneer. "So you had to improvise, is that it?"

"Would you have come back for something non-work-related?"

Raking a hand through his hair, Will began to pace the length of the office. "Tell me it isn't true," he pleaded. _"Tell me_ you didn't kill all those people."

"Clearly, you have your doubts," Hannibal observed. "Otherwise, I imagine you would have come here with Jack."

"Never mind all that," Will said. "You've been a confidant – a _friend_ – and I needed to hear it from your lips before taking action."

"That is a rather foolish tactic, should your suspicions hold true."

"You won't kill me."

"Won't I?"

"No." Will shook his head, now taking a tremulous step forward. "You've been chomping at the bit to be part of this case since the beginning, but I could never figure out why. Did the knowledge of my gift make you nervous?"

Hannibal folded his hands. "Not nervous, so much as intrigued. As you're well aware, a great deal can be done with a gift like that."

"For a price," Will agreed. "I'm beginning to wonder what's yours?"

"You suspect blackmail?"

"Among other things. There's no need to be coy with me, Dr. Lecter. I'm fully aware that there's a missing piece to this puzzle."

"Then please, enlighten me."

"I believe that requires some reciprocation," Will snapped. "Why don't you start with the why and the how?"

"You are the profiler," Hannibal said. "Shouldn't you already have a basic outline of such matters?"

Will felt his temper flare. "You've got me – you've got _Abigail –_ right where you want us. I couldn't turn you in without jeopardizing our secret, and you _had_ to know that. It's why you so carelessly let yourself be discovered."

Hannibal allowed a smile at that. "Perhaps," he agreed. "With Abigail in the cross-hairs, I knew you would never take any drastic measures. Love truly is the Achilles heel of man, is it not?"

 _"What_ do you _want?"_

"A second chance."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I had a younger sister…Mischa," Hannibal said, his eyes taking on a broken, distant sheen. "All I ask is that you allow me to speak with her once more."

Will's mouth twitched, however slight. "If I do this for you, you _are_ aware that I'll have to turn you in, right?"

"If I am able to speak with my _mažai gėlių_ again, it will be well worth the pain and adversity."

Rubbing at the back of his neck, Will nodded before giving an impatient gesture. "Where is she buried?"

"I have her remains stored away in a special box."

"A _box?_ Dr. Lecter, I-"

"Her bones were all that were left to me."

Bewildered, Will's eyes grew glassy as he shook his head. "I'm sorry, but…unless your sister is actually capable of _speech,_ I can't bring her back. Or at least…I don't believe so. My gift doesn't include regeneration, so your sister wouldn't have any vocal cords."

Hannibal's expression grew lethal. "You _will_ try, unless you wish for Abigail to be handed over to the infamous Tattle Crime.

Will's throat worked reflexively and he nodded, releasing a breath before dropping his face into his hands. "Alright," he weakly agreed, _"alright."_ Rubbing at his mouth, he lowered his arms before asking, "When?"

"I wish to do this as soon as possible."

"Tomorrow, then," Will agreed. "I'll come by your office and-"

"No," Hannibal interjected, "meet me at my home. We shall discuss the specifics then."

"Very well. I'll see you tomorrow at seven. It's the best I can do."

With jittery limbs, Will turned and made a hasty beeline for the door.

* * *

When Will crossed the threshold of his house, he barely lifted his eyes as Abigail gleefully flounced into the room.

"Sooo, what do you think?" she chirped. Holding her hands out to the side, she did a pleased little twirl before striking a jaunty pose.

Will blinked at her in bemusement. "Oh, uh…wow," he stammered. "You look-"

 _"Great?_ Why thank you, you shouldn't have," she teased. "I pulled out my fake prom dress, and for the first time in months, I actually tried to do something with my hair and makeup. You _are_ still taking me out dancing tonight, aren't you?"

"Uhh, oh – _oh!_ Yes, yes, I'm sorry, I just had a hectic day at work," Will apologized. "But for what it's worth, you _do_ look remarkably beautiful."

She beamed. "Do you need to get ready, or are you going as is?"

He huffed. "I take it you don't approve of my work attire?"

"Well I mean, you could put a _little_ effort into it," she teased.

"Then 'a little effort' it is," Will agreed, offering her a grin as he headed for his bedroom. Even if his very foundation was crumbling from the inside out, Abigail deserved to have a nice evening. _Especially if it ended up being one of their last._

* * *

"Look at us, all snazzy and without dog hair," Abigail teased, linking her arm through Will's clothed one as they pleasantly entered the dance venue. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say we were actually conscientious of our appearance for a change."

"Well, I have to pretend I care every so often," Will ribbed back. "At least the place doesn't seem too crowded. I'd hate the thought of us tripping over each other."

"You mean more than usual?" Abigail grinned and squeezed his arm. "Even if it was full of hundreds of writhing, smelly bodies, it'd still be absolutely perfect. Thank you for taking me."

"You're welcome." Expression warm, Will tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear with his gloved fingers, then fondly brushed his thumb across her lips. "Shall we dance?"

Abigail snorted. "You're so corny… But my answer is definitely yes." Accepting his upturned hand, she brightened as he led her toward the middle of the dance floor. A slow, melodic tune by Frank Sinatra was being played by a live cover band, and the various couples swayed along to the beat.

"Looks easy enough," Will observed. "Think you can keep your feet to yourself?"

"Well, I dunno…they _are_ awfully fond of you." Sneering, Abigail placed her free hand on his shoulder as he touched the small of her back. Beginning to move, the two gently swayed as her expression softened. "You know something? I'm probably the one person on earth who can say 'I've died and gone to heaven' and actually mean it."

Will smiled. _"Now_ who's the corny one?"

"I know, I know, that was a little dumb, but…it's true. Over the past several months, I honestly think I've been happier than I ever have in my entire life."

"Me, too," Will softly admitted. "Even if you _are_ the health police and threw out all my bachelor food."

Giggling, Abigail allowed him to lead her into a careful twirl. Moving back into his arms, she lifted her gloved hands to lightly frame his face. "We may not be able to kiss, but at least we've found loopholes here and there. Do you think we could… _y'know_ …do what I suggested earlier?"

Will felt his temperature rise. "You mean, uh…by the fire?"

She grinned. "So typical of the male brain to hang on to the female's every word, but _only_ when there's sex involved." She lowered her hands to his shoulders. "Yes, that's exactly what I mean. Maybe some wine and chocolate and B-rated movies, too?"

I wasn't aware that bad films were an aphrodisiac." With a lopsided smile, Will rocked with her in his arms, his hands moving to lightly graze her derriere. "Fortunately for you, I just so happen to have many."

"I know," Abigail agreed, "your taste is terrible. But at this rate, are we even going to stay here for fifteen minutes? Your hands are already on my ass…"

Will chuckled. "I can move them, if you feel so inclined, but there's no guarantee that they won't go someplace worse."

"Such a gentleman." Lightly brushing her gloved fingers along his neck, Abigail suggested, "Maybe you should go out to the car now. I'll meet you there in five minutes."

"Oh, but-"

 _"Five._ Minutes." With a pleased little smile, Abigail kissed her clothed palm before placing it over Will's mouth. "I'll be freshening up in the powder room."

As she sashayed off toward the back, Will's face fell as he struggled to retain their amorous mood. She would find out about Hannibal's proposition sooner or later, but should he truly concern her with all this?

Glancing back toward Abigail, he saw her turn before giving a coy wave. He gave one in return and smiled, acknowledging that no, he could _never_ snuff out that light. He would allow her to be happy for as long as he was able.

 


	13. An Unorthodox Resurrection

With a kittenish noise, Abigail curled up into the fetal position, her arms lifting above her head as her blanket slid beneath her bare shoulders. She opened her eyes to see Will smiling at her from the couch.

"Good morning," he greeted. "Sleep well?"

She smiled. "Well, you were there, weren't you? Would you call last night worthy of a 'good night's sleep'?"

"Very." Pointing toward the hearth, he added, "I started up a new fire for you. I didn't want you to be cold when I woke up, seeing how I can't…y'know… _hold_ you."

"And they say chivalry's dead!" With a contented sigh, Abigail rolled over onto her back and rubbed the sleep from her eyes. "What time is it?"

"Time for breakfast, if you'd like."

"Waffles with strawberries?"

"Is there any other kind?"

Beaming, Abigail rose from off the floor and lifted the blanket along with her, mindful of the dress at her feet that she'd ripped off the night before. "Lead the way, my dear chef in training."

With a chuckle, Will set his book aside and headed into the kitchen, now pulling out the necessary ingredients and utensils to get started. "So what's on the agenda today?"

"I'm not sure yet. I'll probably read a little and bake some more, maybe. I got a desperate letter this morning, asking me to send more pies to the lab ASAP."

Will huffed. "Let me guess: Brian Zeller?"

"Jimmy Price, actually. But really, I don't mind. If it wasn't, y'know, _dangerous,_ I'd love to sell them to people."

"Maybe someday," Will softly said. Expression grave, he added, "Abigail, I need to tell you something… It's about Dr. Lecter." He noticed her stiffen. "He's finally said what he wants."

"And?"

"He wants to talk to his sister."

"So let him," Abigail pleaded. "Maybe then, he'll finally leave us alone."

Will's hands shook as he stirred the batter. "I can't – I _know_ I can't – but he's unwilling to see reason. All he has of her remains are old bones, so clearly, I can't communicate with her in any way."

Abigail felt her heart sink. "And you've tried explaining this?"

"Of course I have, but there's no convincing him of otherwise. I'm just…I'm worried about what'll happen when I go over there and prove myself right. I _wish_ I could help him, but it's impossible."

"Have you ever tried anything like this before?"

"No, but I'm positive it won't work. And depending on the state of her remains, I might not even be able to get her to move and spell out a message."

"Then…what are we going to do?"

Shaking his head, Will poured some cinnamon into the batter and released a breath. "I don't know," he whispered. "Dr. Lecter has a certain _kindness_ that I'm hoping to prey on. Somehow, I don't believe – perhaps, don't _wish_ to believe – that he would hurt us."

Abigail's eyes narrowed. "What makes you say that? He's a liar, Will…and worse."

"Then you knew…?" He trailed off, now piercing her in place with his sharp gaze. "Did you ever think it an opportune time to tell me? Perhaps I could've _prevented_ all of this if I'd known."

"He threatened to tell our secret," Abigail defensively spat. Holding up her blanket with shaking fingers, she ducked her head and sniffed. "I know it was stupid, Will, but I couldn't take the risk…unlike you, I don't trust him at all. He's been scheming ever since the beginning. You need to stop looking for the good in people when there isn't any."

Will's gaze grew pained. "I saw the good in you when nobody else would."

"That is _not_ a fair comparison."

"Isn't it, though? Many people thought you might've helped your father."

Abigail scoffed. "Would you just _listen_ to yourself? Unlike me, Hannibal _is_ an actual murderer, and no amount of pitiable reasons is going to change that!"

Will ducked his head down into his hand, nodding slowly. "You're right," he whispered, "I just…I wish I knew what to do."

"Do everything you told him you would," Abigail said, "but have Jack on standby. He already knows about us, so he could help keep everything under wraps."

As usual, Abigail's logic helped to ground him. Now that there was a semblance of a plan, Will could think more clearly. "Alright," he agreed, "I will. And then I'll contact you the minute there's an issue."

Abigail huffed. "From the sound of things, you should've done that already."

"I suppose I deserved that."

Expression softening, she shook her head. "That's not what I meant, Will. If we want to win – if we're going to have _any_ hope of outsmarting him – we're going to need to work together. No more secrets, okay?"

Will nodded. "Okay."

Taking the batter from his hands, Abigail headed toward the waffle iron with purpose. "Enough doom and gloom – you owe me some waffles," she said.

With a tired smile, he nodded before following after.

* * *

"Good evening, Will."

Tense and grim, Will offered a tight-lipped smile as Hannibal gestured toward the inside of his home.

"Won't you come in?"

Keeping his hands jammed down inside his pockets, Will crossed the threshold and faltered in the foyer. "Where will we be doing this?"

"Mischa's room," Hannibal said. "Though she never inhabited it, I picked out a place in this abode I knew she would love. It overlooks the garden."

With a wordless nod, Will followed after Hannibal as he led him up the stairs and toward a door at the end of a long, narrow corridor.

"She is in here," Hannibal explained. Flipping on the light, he stepped aside and allowed his guest entry.

Squinting as the room became illuminated, Will's eyes finally rested on an ornately furbished, medium-sized box. He felt his heart sink. "What bones of your sister do you have?"

"Not many, I'm afraid… Just a few fingers and some teeth."

Will ran a hand over the back of his neck. "Dr. Lecter, unless your sister is capable of speech, I _can't_ get her to communicate."

"Just having her alive will do," Hannibal spat. "I wish for her to hear my apology."

Will didn't bother correcting that in actuality, she probably _wouldn't_ be able to hear. If Hannibal was satisfied with just speaking to the girl's remains, then far be it for him to jeopardize his and Abigail's safety.

"Alright," Will agreed, "I'll bring her back. Just…bring her bones out and set them onto the table."

Hannibal obliged, now lifting the lid and withdrawing a black velvet pouch. With a reverent pass of his hand over the parcel, he paused a moment before carefully dumping the contents onto the table. A couple finger bones and teeth skittered across the surface.

Swallowing low in his throat, Will glanced over at Hannibal before slowly approaching. "She can only remain alive for 60 seconds," he reminded him. "Otherwise, someone else will die in her place."

"Fair enough." Hannibal's voice was even, but laced with a tightness that made Will apprehensive.

"That part of the deal's non-negotiable," he said.

"Understood."

Releasing a breath, Will closed his eyes and attempted to slow his pounding heart, then reached out and touched the largest finger bone. It jerked, trembled, then began rolling across the wooden surface.

Hannibal quickly moved to intervene. Catching the bone in his palm, he swiftly drew it in to rest over his heart, his eyes tearing up as he held his sister tenderly in her inevitable silence. "Mischa," he whispered.

"45 seconds," Will warned.

Seeming to ignore him, Hannibal stroked his thumb across the bone and exhaled. "Mischa," he said again, voice strained, "at long last, we are together again."

Will anxiously watched the clock, wondering why the other man was taking his sweet old time.

"I am so sorry I failed to protect you. I broke my promise." Keeping his head bowed, Hannibal squeezed Mischa against him. "In life, you have always mattered most. I found myself seeking you elsewhere through cheap imitations, but all for naught. No one could ever compare to you."

"15 seconds!"

Hannibal glanced at Will in clear annoyance, then continued, "I may have failed to care for you when we were children, but I shall fail to do so no longer. You _will_ live again."

Will balked. "But-"

Hannibal bolted for the door, causing the agent to curse and go racing after him.

"Hannibal! Goddammit, _Hannibal!_ The person to die will probably be you! How can you care for Mischa if you're dead?!"

Lecter didn't slow down. If anything, the therapist seemed to move faster.

Lungs aching from lack of breath, Will glanced down at his watch and swore when the second hand struck down to zero. There came a deathly quiet pause, then something fell by the drawing room window with a loud, heavy thud. It had appeared to be a body…

Panicking, Will ignored Hannibal in favor of racing out to identify the victim. There, lying lifelessly in the well-trimmed shrubs was a petite, fiery redhead – _Freddie Lounds._


	14. The Sacrifice

"And this happened _how?"_

"It was an unfortunate accident," Hannibal said, folding his hands over his knee. "Will and I were conversing in the drawing room when we heard a great, terrible crash from out front. It would seem Miss Lounds had been attempting to break into my home. She must have lost her footing by the window and fallen."

Jack appeared skeptical, but he knew the story matched the evidence. "Freddie Lounds has no living family – or at least, none whom are willing to _claim_ her – so the BAU will remain in custody of her remains until funeral arrangements have been made. Thank you for your cooperation, Dr. Lecter."

"But of course."

Hannibal rose with a faint smile, then headed out the office door just as Will stepped inside.

"You wanted to see me?"

Gesturing to the seat across from him, Jack waited for Will to sit before saying, "Your story checks out. Both you and Dr. Lecter gave the same account, so we're now waiting on the autopsy report." The older man frowned. "Are you alright? This is the second incident on your record in less than two years."

Will released a breath. "Believe me, I know. Lounds was a snake in human's clothing, but I never wished her dead. I feel…badly."

_"Responsible?"_

"I never said that."

"You didn't have to, Will. You wear your heart on your sleeve," Jack said, frowning as he leaned forward in his seat. "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"

Thinking of Hannibal and how he'd surely turn Abigail over to science, Will quickly shook his head, attempting to seem confident in his answer.

"Very well." Leaning back with a sigh, Jack closed the file and nodded toward the door. "You're dismissed. We'll all confer again once we have the final results."

* * *

"If I could give you a hug, I would."

With a strained little laugh, Will glumly pushed his pie around on his plate with a sigh. "I'm sorry, Abigail – dinner was wonderful, as usual, but I can't help but feel that this is just the beginning. I mean, what if Hannibal decides he wants something else? He _knows_ I won't be able to resist, because it'd put your life in danger."

Abigail felt her heart clench. "I wish you'd stop making decisions based on what you think I need. No matter what you might believe, you _don't_ have to protect me."

Will winced. "But what if he turns us in? You _know_ you'll be quarantined for scientific analysis."

"I don't know any such thing, and neither do you. We're just theorizing at this point, and that is _not_ the way I want to live my life. I didn't die just to come back and live in fear." She touched her gloved hand over his. "We'll find a way, Will. We always do."

He smiled weakly. "I suppose you're right… I'm sorry."

Pressing a kiss to her gloved palm, Abigail smiled and placed it over his mouth. "You're forgiven – as long as you finish the dessert I worked so hard on, of course."

Will grinned and moved to do exactly that, but that's when the phone rang. He sighed and set down his fork. "Just a second," he said. Now lifting the phone from its cradle, he strode into the kitchen and paused at the entryway. "Hello?"

"Hello, Will. So good of you to answer."

"Dr. Lecter…" Paling, Will exhaled and began to pace. "What do you want?"

"It would seem that my Mischa is slowly regenerating. Though barely noticeable, I have measured her, and she has grown at least an inch since last night. If this keeps up, I hope to have all of her in her entirety within a matter of months."

Will abruptly stopped pacing. "What do you mean, she's regenerating? That's…"

"Impossible? Evidently not, dear Will, which brings me to my next request."

He held his breath. "Hannibal, you can't just-"

"I wish for you to bring back my parents."

"Your _parents?_ But that would mean-"

"I am fully aware," Lecter irritably cut in, "but you will either do as I ask, or suffer the consequences – or rather, watch as _Abigail_ suffers for your ineptitude."

Will grit his teeth. "I'll think about it."

"Please see that you do. And once you have your answer, please call me at your earliest convenience. Goodnight, Will."

The line went dead, and Will slammed the phone down in a huff.

* * *

Abigail had heard everything. Despite her remarkable ability to remain calm, she had quickly ascertained Will's dilemma, but hadn't remarked on it when he'd returned to the dining room. And even after they had gotten ready for bed and settled down for the night (she in his bed and he on the floor), she had remained silent in her turmoil. But now, more than ever, it was growing quite clear what she must do. She had become a burden – and more importantly, someone to lord over Will in exchange for his compliance – so Abigail knew she needed to remove herself from the equation. Hannibal couldn't prove a damn thing about Will's gift if she was gone.

Rising from off the bed, Abigail carefully knelt down alongside Will with tears in her eyes. She had grown to love him more than life itself, and now she needed to give up that life in order to free him. It was time that she stopped being so selfish.

Leaning over Will's peacefully sleeping form, Abigail watched his careful breathing and was tempted to touch him – to _truly_ touch him – but was appeased with what she intended to do before her death. She would kiss him.

As tempting as it was to touch his face, Abigail instead hugged herself and began to cry harder. "I'm so sorry," she whispered. "I hope one day you can forgive me…"

The old grandfather clock upstairs struck midnight, but still Will did not stir. With a hand over her heart, Abigail added a soft, "Goodbye, Will – I love you," before coming down to his level. With a shuddery intake of breath, she closed her eyes and gently pressed her lips to his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one more chapter to go! I apologize for practically falling off the face of the earth, but the truth is, I became very uninspired, and there was far more interest in my Hannibal/Path AU, so I delved into that fic instead. I'm truly grateful to those who have reviewed here, however, because without your continued support, I'm certain this fic never would've even come this far.


	15. A New Life

When Will awoke, he felt as if he were being embraced. Amidst his fuzzy, sleep-addled mind, he sensed warmth, pressure, and the sweet hint of a kiss, followed thereafter by a rush of breath that caught in between the nameless lips.

Will's eyes opened in an instant. "Abigail?" He blinked up at her, stunned once he realized that her hands – her _actual hands –_ were on his face.

"Will," she breathed, appearing just as stunned as he was. "Will, I just…I…"

"You're alright?"

She nodded, trembling as she lifted her hands to look at them. When she realized that she really, truly _was_ alright, a relieved little laugh caught in her throat and she reached for Will again.

"I can touch you!" she exclaimed, now smoothing her fingers across his cheeks. "I have a bit of tingling numbness and nausea, but otherwise, I'm okay!"

"I was hoping for more than 'numbness and nausea' whenever we first touched, but I guess I'll take it," Will teased, still struggling to comprehend just exactly what was happening.

Abigail laughed and threw her arms around his neck. "Oh God, I didn't think this day would ever come!" Pressing her lips to the scruff of his cheek, she urged her mouth over his and tugged tightly on his hair, kissing him fast and hard as he cupped her cheeks. The salt of her tears mingled between their lips, and Abigail withdrew with a breathless little gasp. "Do you know what this means?"

"I think so," Will agreed, "but forgive me if I'd rather keep making out for a while. We have a lot of ground to cover, you realize."

Abigail laughed and nuzzled into his cheek. "Go ahead and call Jack," she urged. "I'd like to keep making out with you too, but I think we need to take care of a few things first."

* * *

It was two in the morning when Hannibal received a knock at his door. Weary and disoriented, he padded through the great halls in his smoker's jacket, appearing aggravated as he opened the door. What he saw on the stoop made his brows rise. "Yes?"

"Good morning, Dr. Lecter," Jack said. "I hate to bother you at this hour, but the four of us have something to discuss."

Sparing Will and Abigail a distrusting little glance, Hannibal nodded before stepping back to allow them entry. "But of course. Please come in."

"Thank you." Leading the way into the foyer, Jack was all smiles despite the pending situation. "I trust you know why we're here?"

"Indeed, I do not." Hannibal finally appeared exasperated. "Forgive me, Jack, but I am not a fan of guessing games."

"Very well." Jack withdrew a manila folder from his coat pocket. "After much hemming and hawing, we've discerned that _you_ are our Ripper, Doctor. Would you care to offer a rebuttal?"

Hannibal's expression was tight. "And just how did you come to such a revelation? Hearsay?"

"Audio tape from Will's discussions with you, actually."

"Then you _also_ must be aware of our arrangement? I will not go down without dragging you with me."

Jack mirrored Hannibal's tight expression with one of his own, his smile so brittle that it resembled cracks in pavement. "Of course," he agreed, "but fortunately, the only living proof of Will's gift is your little Mischa. And surely you wouldn't allow your own sister to be turned over to science?"

Hannibal finally emoted genuine distress. "But Abigail Hobbs…"

"Is alive and will _stay_ alive," Will intervened. "It would seem that my tests finally paid off. My gift caveat really _does_ have an expiration date." He smiled and reached down for Abigail's hand, now fondly interlocking their bare fingers. "She's officially one of the living, and nothing you can say will ever prove otherwise."

Hannibal took a discreet step back. "If you think you can take Mischa away from me, you are sorely mistaken."

"We won't," Jack assured him. "Once your sister is capable of speech – or more accurately, once she is fully presentable – she will be allowed as many visits as you wish. If it were up to me, you'd be locked away without a single form of contact with the outside world, but apparently Will is more forgiving than I am."

Hannibal's jaw tensed. "And where is she to go?"

"Our colleague, Dr. Alana Bloom, has offered to step in as her surrogate."

Despite his displeasure, Hannibal relaxed somewhat at this admission. He liked and respected Dr. Bloom. "Then I suppose if I refuse to come quietly…?"

"We will have no choice but to turn in your sister, yes. I don't desire to put pain upon a mere child, Dr. Lecter, but you would be forcing my hand for the greater good."

"Very well. You have my full cooperation." Hannibal held out his hands for the arrest.

* * *

The next few weeks were a blur. Hannibal Lecter had been admitted to the BSHCI under Dr. Chilton's care, and, as promised, he was permitted visits with little Mischa. Despite being fully grown, she was still misshapen and without skin in certain places, so the regeneration process still hadn't fully finished. Nevertheless, a promise was a promise, so once a week, Alana Bloom would bring Mischa down to visit with her brother. And in spite of his imprisonment, Hannibal was lively, pleasant, and always eager to regale her with stories of his life – primarily of his studies and artistry – and as a closing, he would read to her from his limited library. And though young and barely able to speak, Mischa would sit there with her eyes bright and attentive. The two were together again – complete and with time fully reversed.

Will and Abigail, meanwhile, had had quite the eventful few weeks as well. As was to be expected, the two had grown practically inseparable. In between fishing trips, library visits, and general exploration, the duo spent as much time touching as possible. It didn't even have to be sexual – just so long as the other was close by (a press of the hand here, or a touch of the arm there), they were both satisfied. Intimacy had never been welcome to either of them prior to their relationship, but now they felt incomplete without the other's touch.

With Hannibal out of the picture, Abigail was finally free to start baking for profit. With Will's help, she opened a little shop and sold to the locals, always wearing bright smiles and sunny dresses. No longer was she caged and unable to express herself. In between baking and painting, she'd found her niche and a proper outlet to heal.

So now, setting a handful of dead strawberries onto the prep table, Abigail nudged Will with a smile. "Go ahead and get to work – these strawberries won't restore themselves!"

With a chuckle, Will touched each rotted fruit until they regenerated to a vibrant, healthy red. "I've got to admit: I'm starting to feel a little used here."

"I can't help that the fruit's freshest this way!"

"No, but a thank you would be nice."

"You're right... _thank you."_ With a bright smile, Abigail took Will's face between her hands and kissed him. Wrinkling her nose, she licked her lips and pulled back with an accusatory scowl. "Have you been eating the peaches again? I swear, Will, you're worse than a child. I didn't know I'd need to invest in a safe to keep my fruit protected."

Will chuckled, now pressing his forehead to hers. "Your new lease on life is making you a bit bossy."

 _"Fearless_ is the word I'd prefer."

"Fearless enough to fool around while the customers are waiting?"

"Oh no, I'm not falling for _that_ one again. Besides, don't you ever get tired of thinking about sex?"

Will laughed. "Have you _met_ me?"

"Hmph, true enough." Fondly, Abigail linked her hands behind his neck and kissed his nose. "You know something? Even if we have all the time on earth, I don't think I'll ever be able to properly thank you."

Will's expression softened. Gently carding his fingers through her hair, he assured her, "Just having you here is more than enough."

"Yeah? Well I hope you'll remember that the next time you ask for something."

Chuckling, he slid his hands down to bracket her hips. "What if I asked you to marry me?"

"For starters, I would say that's the worst proposal I've ever heard. You didn't even get down on one knee!" When Will brought her hands to his lips, Abigail blinked back at him in stunned silence. "Wait...are you serious?"

Abigail had never been traditional when it came to marriage. When she was young, she hadn't played with her dolls and fantasized about long, shimmering gowns and cakes and dances, and a tall, handsome groom – marriage, in fact, had almost seemed _shameful,_ given how her father hadn't wanted to share her with anyone else. Any boy who'd seemed even remotely interested was soon discouraged by the dark, overhanging shadow of Mr. Garrett Jacob Hobbs. But now there _was_ no Mr. Hobbs – there was only Abigail and Will, and she'd somehow grown to love the beautifully besmirched man standing before her.

"I'm, uh, not proposing to you on the spot here," Will said, hoping that that might alleviate her fears. "I'm just...I'm wondering if it was something you've ever considered. If you'd ever want to."

With her eyes averted, Abigail slid her hands down to curl around Will's fingers. "Are you saying you'll always be in my life?"

Unable to help it, his eyes twinkled and he nodded. "I'm yours, Abigail." He gave a soft, genuine smile. "Whether you want me or not, I'm yours."

"You're so corny." Mirroring his smile, Abigail laughed and rose to kiss his forehead. "On second thought, maybe I _am_ open to a bit of fooling around, after all..." She pointed to her watch. "You've got me for sixty seconds."

"What? Well that seems a little-"

"Trust me. That's _more_ than enough." With a laugh, she took his hand and the two rushed into the backroom, both warm and shining, and filled with the love that had grown from a single seed of death.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AT LONG LAST. THIS FIC IS FINISHED! Thank you so, _so_ much to those who've stuck with me this entire time, because I know my updates have been sporadic at best. That's what happens when you write for a dead fandom, alas. Though this will (probably) be my last Will/Abigail fic, I'm currently working on a Cal Roberts/Abigail Hobbs fic, which is basically like Abigram on steroids. lol I'm really enjoying writing it, and I encourage Hugh fans to watch _The_ Path since it's pretty good!
> 
> Anyway, forgive the corn and cheese, but I wanted to stay true to the _Pushing Daisies_ vibe and end everything on a fluffy, happy note. I realize that Will and Abigail WOULD have had a discussion about why she'd kissed him (because it's pretty obvious she'd tried to sacrifice herself), but that would've rained on the fluff parade, and it also wouldn't have fit in too well with this ending, so I just took it out entirely. Pretend they discussed it further down the line after their marriage. ;) I also highly recommend watching _Pushing Daisies,_ by the way. It's such a sweet and pure show.
> 
> As always, you can catch my original works/fandom nonsense on my tumblr: **musicboxmemories.tumblr.com** I'm going to stop talking now before I get emotional about all your lovely support!

**Author's Note:**

> To see my Will/Abigail Pushing Daisies fan art, manips, and fan mix, you can either check out my 'pushing daisies' tag on my Tumblr (musicboxmcmories), or you can follow the links below:
> 
>  **FAN MIX** (I listened to these songs for inspiration for this fic):  
>  http://musicboxmemories.tumblr.com/post/147046816182/listen-songs-that-inspired-me-while-writing-my
> 
>  **MANIPS:**  
>  http://jokerxrachelxnut.deviantart.com/art/Hannibal-Pushing-Daisies-AU-620223676  
> http://musicboxmemories.tumblr.com/post/143120832863/hannibalpushing-daisies-au-abigail-hobbs-died  
> http://musicboxmemories.tumblr.com/post/142749636012/hannibalpushing-daisies-au-will-was-nervous-in


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